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“ ‘ I thought thou wert lost, my boy.’ ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 


(See page 89) 


BOYS OF OTHER 
COUNTRIES 


BY 

BAYARD TAYLOR 

>1 


ENLARGED EDITION, INCLUDING 

THE ROBBER REGION OF SOUTHERN 
CALIFORNIA 


J 


ILLUSTRATED BY 


FREDERICK S. COBURN AND OTHERS 


1/ 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

Ube Knickerbocker press 

1912 




Copyright, 1876, by 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


Copyright. 1901, by 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


' Copyright, 1904, by Marie Taylor 
In renewal of copyright originally registered in 1876 


Copyright, 1912, by 

MARIE TAYLOR 




ft 

•; 

ft- 



TThe ‘Knickerbocker press, flew gork 



CI.A327089 

V- 

ft * 



CONTENTS 


I. 

The Little Post-Boy 

. 

. 

PAGE 

3 

II. 

The Pasha’s Son 

• 

. 

25 

III. 

Jon of Iceland 

• 

• 

47 

IV. 

The Two Herd-Boys 

• 

• 

129 

V. 

The Young Serf 

• 

• 

151 

VI. 

Studies of Animal Nature 

• 

• 

203 

VII. 

A Robber Region of 
California . 

Southern 

235 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ ‘I thought thou wert lost, my boy.’ ” Frontispiece. / 
Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“ Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with 

me to bring back their fathers' horses ” . 8 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“By the time we were ready we heard shouts and 

the crack of whips ” . . . .20 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“ A company of farmers, out thus early to plough 

the road" 22 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“It was a long journey” . . . . 38 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

* ‘ The people of the town gathered around to ask 

questions” . . . . . .40 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“In fact, the sheep became Jon's companions, in 

the absence of human ones. ” ... 56 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“Jon started northward, driving the sheep before 

him” 62 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 


VI 


Illustrations 


“All these features of the great central desert of 
Iceland lay hard and clean before his eyes. ” 
Drawing by F. S. Cobum. 

Jon’s Meeting with the Horsemen . 

From the engraving by J. P. Davis. 

The Halt on the Journey . 

From the engraving by F. S. King. 

“ ‘ And how much do you get for taking care of 
the cattle?”’ . 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“They reached the foot of the fall, the spray of 
which was whirled into their faces. ” . 
Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“Sasha never afterwards could explain the im- 
pulse which led him to dart under the trees 
as soon as he was out of sight, to get in the 
rear of the thicket, crawl silently nearer on 
his hands and knees, and then lie down flat 
within hearing of the men’s voices ” . 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

“The old man, crying for joy, dropped on his 
knees and said a prayer. ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 

‘ ‘ Old Gregor was alone in the house ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn. 


70 


76 

120 

134 

164 - 


174 

182 'i 

198 


The Little Post-Boy 























•> 









I 


The Little Post-Boy 

N my travels about the world I 
have made the acquaintance of 
a great many children, and I 
might tell you many things about their 
dress, their speech, and their habits of 
life in the different countries I have vis- 
ited. I presume, however, that you would 
rather hear me relate some of my adven- 
tures in which children participated, so 
that the story and the information shall be 
given together. Ours is not the only country 
in which children must frequently begin at 
an early age to do their share of work and 
accustom themselves to make their way in life. 
I have found many instances among other 

races, and in other climates, of youthful cour- 
3 




4 Boys of Other Countries 

age, and self-reliance, and strength of charac- 
ter, some of which I propose to relate to you. 

This one shall be the story of my adventure 
with a little post-boy, in the northern part of 
Sweden. 

Very few foreigners travel in Sweden in 
the winter on account of the intense cold. 
As you go northward from Stockholm, the 
capital, the country becomes ruder and wilder, 
and the climate more severe. In the shel- 
tered valleys along the Gulf of Bothnia and 
the rivers which empty into it, there are farms 
and villages for a distance of seven or eight 
hundred miles, after which fruit-trees disap- 
pear, and nothing will grow in the short, cold 
summers except potatoes and a little barley. 
Farther inland, there are great forests and 
lakes, and ranges of mountains where bears, 
wolves, and herds of wild reindeer make their 
home. No people could live in such a country 
unless they were very industrious and thrifty. 

I made my journey in the winter, because 


The Little Post-Boy 


5 


I was on my way to Lapland, where it is 
easier to travel when the swamps and rivers 
are frozen, and the reindeer-sled can fly along 
over the smooth snow. It was very cold in- 
deed, the greater part of the time; the days 
were short and dark, and if I had not found 
the people so kind, so cheerful, and so hon- 
est, I should have felt inclined to turn back 
more than once. But I do not think there 
are better people in the world than those who 
live in Norrland, which is a Swedish province 
commencing about two hundred miles north of 
Stockholm. 

They are a tall, strong race, with yellow 
hair and bright blue eyes, and the handsomest 
teeth I ever saw. They live plainly, but very 
comfortably, in snug wooden houses, with 
double windows and doors to keep out the 
cold ; and since they cannot do much out-door 
work, they spin and weave and mend their 
farming implements in the large family room, 
thus enjoying the winter in spite of its sever- 


6 


Boys of Other Countries 


ity. They are very happy and contented, and 
few of them would be willing to leave that 
cold country and make their homes in a 
warmer climate. 

Here there are neither railroads nor stages, 
but the government has established post-sta- 
tions at distances varying from ten to twenty 
miles. At each station a number of horses, 
and sometimes vehicles, are kept, but gener- 
ally the traveller has his own sled, and simply 
hires the horses from one station to another. 
These horses are either furnished by the 
keeper of the station or some of the neighbor- 
ing farmers, and when they are wanted a man 
or boy goes along with the traveller to bring 
them back. It would be quite an independent 
and convenient way of travelling, if the horses 
were always ready; but sometimes you must 
wait an hour or more before they can be 
furnished. 

I had my own little sled, filled with hay 
and covered with reindeer skins to keep me 


7 


The Little Post-Boy 

warm. So long as the weather was not too 
cold, it was very pleasant to speed along 
through the dark forests, over the frozen 
rivers, or past farm after farm in the sheltered 
valleys, up hill and down until long after the 
stars came out, and then to get a warm sup- 
per in some dark-red post cottage, while the 
cheerful people sang or told stories around 
the fire. The cold increased a little every 
day, to be sure, but I became gradually accus- 
tomed to it, and soon began to fancy that 
the Arctic climate was not so difficult to 
endure as I had supposed. At first the ther- 
mometer fell to zero; then it went down ten 
degrees below; then twenty, and finally thirty. 
Being dressed in thick furs from head to foot, 
I did not suffer greatly; but I was very glad 
when the people assured me that such extreme 
cold never lasted more than two or three days. 
Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went 
with me to bring back their fathers' horses, 
and so long as those lively, red-cheeked fel- 


8 Boys of Other Countries 

lows could face the weather, it would not do 
for me to be afraid. 

One night there was a wonderful aurora in 
the sky. The streamers of red and blue light 
darted hither and thither, chasing each other 
up to the zenith and down again to the north- 
ern horizon with a rapidity and a brilliance 
which I had never seen before. “ There will 
be a storm soon,” said my post-boy; “one 
always comes after these lights.” 

Next morning the sky was overcast, and 
the short day was as dark as our twilight. 
But it was not quite so cold, and I travelled 
onward as fast as possible. There was a long 
tract of wild and thinly settled country before 
me and I wished to get through it before stop- 
ping for the night. Unfortunately it hap- 
pened that two lumber-merchants were travel- 
ling the same way and had taken the horses; 
so I was obliged to wait at the stations until 
horses were brought from the neighboring 
farms. This delayed me so much that at 



“ Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with me to bring back 
their father’s horses ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 





The Little Post-Boy 


9 


seven o’clock in the evening I had still one 
more station of three Swedish miles before 
reaching the village where I had intended to 
spend the night. Now, a Swedish mile is 
nearly equal to seven English, so that this 
station was at least twenty miles long. 

I decided to take supper while the horse 
was eating his feed. They had not expected 
any more travellers at the station, and were 
not prepared. The keeper had gone on with 
the two lumber-merchants; but his wife — a 
friendly, rosy-faced woman — prepared me 
some excellent coffee, potatoes, and stewed 
reindeer-meat, upon which I made a satisfac- 
tory meal. The house was on the border of 
a large, dark forest, and the roar of the icy 
northern wind in the trees seemed to increase 
while I waited in the warm room. I did not 
feel inclined to go forth into the wintry storm, 
but, having set my mind on reaching the vil- 
lage that night, I was loath to turn back. 

“It is a bad night,” said the woman, “and 


IO 


Boys of Other Countries 

my husband will certainly stay at Umea until 
morning. His name is Niels Petersen, and I 
think you will find him at the post-house 
when you get there. Lars will take you, and 
they can come back together.” 

“ Who is Lars? ” I asked. 

4 ‘My son,” said she. “He is getting the 
horse ready. There is nobody else about the 
house to-night.” 

Just then the door opened, and in came 
Lars. He was about twelve years old; but 
his face was so rosy, his eyes so clear and 
round and blue, and his golden hair was blown 
back from his face in such silky curls, that 
he appeared to be even younger. I was sur- 
prised that his mother should be willing to 
send him twenty miles through the dark woods 
on such a night. 

“Come here, Lars,” I said. Then I took 
him by the hand, and asked, “Are you not 
afraid to go so far to-night? ” 

He looked at me with wondering eyes, and 


II 


The Little Post-Boy 

smiled; and his mother made haste to say: 
'‘You need not fear, sir. Lars is young, but 
he ’ll take you safe enough. If the storm 
does n’t get worse, you ’ll be at Umea by 
eleven o’clock.” 

I was again on the point of remaining; but 
while I was deliberating with myself, the boy 
had put on his overcoat of sheep-skin, tied the 
lappets of his fur cap under his chin and a 
thick woolen scarf around his nose and mouth 
so that only the round blue eyes were visible, 
and then his mother took down the mittens 
of hare’s fur from the stove, where they had 
been hung to dry. He put them on, took 
a short leather whip, and was ready. 

I wrapped myself in my furs, and we went 
out together. The driving snow cut me in 
the face like needles, but Lars did not mind 
it in the least. He jumped into the sled, 
which he had filled with fresh, soft hay, tucked 
in the reindeer-skins at the sides, and we 
cuddled together on the narrow seat, making 


12 Boys of Other Countries 

everything close and warm before we set out. 
I could not see at all, when the door of the 
house was shut, and the horse started on the 
journey. The night was dark, the snow blew 
incessantly, and the dark fir-trees roared all 
around us. Lars, however, knew the way, 
and somehow or other we kept the beaten 
track. He talked to the horse so constantly 
and so cheerfully, that after a while my own 
spirits began to rise, and the way seemed 
neither so long nor so disagreeable. 

“Ho there, Axel!” he would say. “Keep 
the road, — not too far to the left. Well done. 
Here ’s a level ; now trot a bit.” 

So we went on, — sometimes up hill, some- 
times down hill, — for a long time, as it seemed. 
I began to grow chilly, and even Lars handed 
me the reins, while he swung and beat his 
arms to keep the blood in circulation. He no 
longer sang little songs and fragments of 
hymns, as when we first set out; but he was 
not in the least alarmed, or even impatient. 


13 


The Little Post-Boy 

Whenever I asked (as I did about every five 
minutes), “Are we nearly there? ” he always 
answered, “A little farther.” 

Suddenly the wind seemed to increase. 

“Ah,” said he, “now I know where we are; 
it ’s one mile more.” But one mile, you must 
remember, meant seven . 

Lars checked the horse, and peered anx- 
iously from side to side in the darkness. I 
looked also but could see nothing. 

“What is the matter?” I finally asked. 

“We have got past the hills on the left,” 
he said. “The country is open to the wind, 
and here the snow drifts worse than anywhere 
else on the road. If there have been no 
ploughs out to-night we ’ll have trouble.” 

You must know that the farmers along the 
road are obliged to turn out with their horses 
and oxen, and plough down the drifts, when- 
ever the road is blocked up by a storm. 

In less than a quarter of an hour we could 
see that the horse was sinking in the deep 


14 Boys of Other Countries 

snow. He plunged bravely forward, but made 
scarcely any headway, and presently became 
so exhausted that he stood quite still. Lars 
and I arose from the seat and looked around. 
For my part, I saw nothing except some very 
indistinct shapes of trees; there was no sign of 
an opening through them. In a few minutes 
the horse started again, and with great labor 
carried us a few yards farther. 

“ Shall we get out and try to find the road? ” 
said I. 

“It ’s no use,” Lars answered. “In these 
new drifts we would sink to the waist. Wait 
a little, and we shall get through this one.” 

It was as he said. Another pull brought us 
through the deep part of the drift, and we 
reached a place where the snow was quite 
shallow. But it was not the hard, smooth sur- 
face of the road ; we could feel that the ground 
was uneven, and covered with roots and 
bushes. Bidding Axel stand still, Lars jumped 
out of the sled, and began wading around 


15 


The Little Post-Boy 

among the trees. Then I got out on the 
other side, but had not proceeded ten steps 
before I began to sink so deeply into the loose 
snow that I was glad to extricate myself and 
return. It was a desperate situation, and I 
wondered how we should ever get out of it. 

I shouted to Lars, in order to guide him, and 
it was not long before he also came back to 
the sled. “If I knew where the road is,” said 
he, “I could get into it again. But I don’t 
know; and I think we must stay here all 
night.” 

“We shall freeze to death in an hour!” I 
cried. I was already chilled to the bone. The 
wind had made me very drowsy, and I knew 
that if I slept I should soon be frozen. 

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Lars cheerfully. “I 
am a Norrlander, and Norrlanders never 
freeze. I went with the men to the bear-hunt, 
last winter, up on the mountains, and we were 
several nights in the snow. Besides, I know 
what my father did with a gentleman from 


1 6 Boys of Other Countries 

Stockholm on this very road, and we 'll do it 
to-night.” 

“ What was it?” 

“Let me take care of Axel first,” said Lars. 
“We can spare him some hay and one rein- 
deer-skin.” 

It was a slow and difficult task to unharness 
the horse, but we accomplished it at last. Lars 
then led him under the drooping branches of 
a fir-tree, tied him to one of them, gave him an 
armful of hay, and fastened the reindeer-skin 
upon his back. Axel began to eat, as if per- 
fectly satisfied with the arrangement. The 
Norrland horses are so accustomed to cold 
that they seem comfortable in a temperature 
where one of ours would freeze. 

When this was done, Lars spread the re- 
maining hay evenly over the bottom of the 
sled and covered it with the skins, which he 
tucked in very firmly on the side towards 
the wind. Then, lifting them on the other 
side, he said: “Now take off your fur coat, 


The Little Post-Boy 17 

quick, lay it over the hay, and then creep 
under it.” 

I obeyed as rapidly as possible. For an 
instant I shuddered in the icy air ; but the next 
moment I lay stretched in the bottom of the 
sled, sheltered from the storm. I held up the 
ends of the reindeer-skins while Lars took off 
his coat and crept in beside me. Then we 
drew the skins down and pressed the hay 
against them. When the wind seemed to be 
entirely excluded Lars said we must pull off 
our boots, untie our scarfs, and so loosen 
our clothes that they would not feel tight 
upon any part of the body. When this was 
done, and we lay close together, warming 
each other, I found that the chill gradually 
passed out of my blood. My hands and feet 
were no longer numb; a delightful feeling of 
comfort crept over me; and I lay as snugly 
as in the best bed. I was surprised to 
find that, although my head was covered, 
I did not feel stifled. Enough air came 

a 


1 8 Boys of Other Countries 

in under the skins to prevent us from feeling 
oppressed. 

There was barely room for the two of us to 
lie, with no chance of turning over or rolling 
about. In five minutes, I think, we were 
sound asleep, and I dreamed of gathering 
peaches on a warm August day at home. In 
fact, I did not wake up thoroughly during the 
night; neither did Lars, though it seemed to 
me that we both talked in our sleep. But as 
I must have talked English and he Swedish, 
there could have been no connection between 
our remarks. I remember that his warm, soft 
hair pressed against my chin, and that his feet 
reached no further than my knees. Just as I 
was beginning to feel a little cramped and stiff 
from lying so still I was suddenly aroused by 
the cold wind on my face. Lars had risen up 
on his elbow, and was peeping out from under 
the skins. 

“I think it must be near six o'clock,” 
he said. “The sky is clear, and I can 


The Little Post-Boy 19 

see the big star. We can start in another 
hour.” 

I felt so much refreshed that I was for 
setting out immediately; but Lars remarked, 
very sensibly, that it was not yet possible to 
find the road. While we were talking, Axel 
neighed. 

'‘There they are!” cried Lars, and immedi- 
ately began to put on his boots, his scarf and 
heavy coat. I did the same, and by the time 
we were ready we heard shouts and the crack 
of whips. We harnessed Axel to the sled, and 
proceeded slowly in the direction of the sounds, 
which came, as we presently saw, from a com- 
pany of farmers, out thus early to plough the 
road. They had six pairs of horses geared to 
a wooden frame, something like the bow of a 
ship, pointed in front and spreading out to a 
breadth of ten or twelve feet. The machine 
not only cut through the drifts but packed the 
snow, leaving a good, solid road behind it. 
After it had passed, we sped along merrily in 


20 Boys of Other Countries 

the cold morning twilight and in little more 
than an hour reached the post-house at Umea, 
where we found Lars’s father prepared to 
return home. He waited, nevertheless, until 
Lars had eaten a good warm breakfast, when 
I said good-bye to both, and went on towards 
Lapland. 

Some weeks afterwards, on my return to 
Stockholm, I stopped at the same little station. 
This time the weather was mild and bright, 
and the father would have gone with me to 
the next post-house; but I preferred to take 
my little bed-fellow and sled-fellow. He was 
so quiet and cheerful and fearless that, al- 
though I had been nearly all over the world, 
and he had never been away from home, — 
although I was a man and he a young boy, — 
I felt that I had learned a lesson from him, and 
might probably learn many more, if I should 
know him better. We had a merry trip of 
two or three hours, and then I took leave of 
Lars forever. He is no doubt still driving 



“By the time we were ready we heard shouts and the crack of whips ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 




The Little Post-Boy 


21 


travellers over the road, a handsome, courage- 
ous, honest-hearted young man, perhaps with 
his own son growing up to take his place, and 
help some later stranger like myself through 
a winter storm. 







r 



“ A company of farmers, out thus early to plough the road ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 



The Pasha’s Son 


23 
























II 


The Pasha’s Son 

GOOD many years ago I spent 
a winter in Africa. I had in- 
tended to go up the Nile only 
as far as Nubia, visiting the great temples and 
tombs of Thebes on the way ; but when I had 
done all this, and passed beyond the cataracts 
at the southern boundary of Egypt, I found the 
journey so agreeable, so full of interest, and at- 
tended with so much less danger than I had 
supposed, that I determined to go on for a 
month or two longer, and penetrate as far as 
possible into the interior. Everything was 
favorable to my plan. I crossed the great 
Nubian Desert without accident or adventure, 
reached the ancient region of Ethiopia, and 

continued my journey until I had advanced 
25 




26 


Boys of Other Countries 

beyond all the cataracts of the Nile, to the 
point where the two great branches of the 
river flow together. 

This point, which you will find on your 
maps in the country called Sennaar, bordering 
Abyssinia on the northwestern side, has be- 
come very important within the last twenty 
or thirty years. The Egyptians, after con- 
quering the country, established there their 
seat of government for all that part of Africa, 
and very soon a large and busy town arose 
where formerly there had only been a few 
mud huts of the natives. The town is called 
Khartoum, and I suppose it must contain, by 
this time, forty or fifty thousand inhabitants. 
It is built on a sandy plain, studded here and 
there with clumps of thorny trees. On the 
east side the Blue Nile, the source of which 
was discovered by the Scotch traveller, Bruce, 
in the last century, comes down clear and 
swift from the mountains of Abyssinia; on the 
west, the broad, shallow, muddy current of 


The Pasha’s Son 


27 


the White Nile, which rises in the great 
lakes discovered by Speke and Baker within 
the last twenty years, makes its appearance. 
The two rivers meet just below the town, and 
flow as a single stream to the Mediterranean, 
a distance of fifteen hundred miles. 

Formerly all this part of Africa was con- 
sidered very wild, barbarous, and dangerous 
to the traveller. But since it has been brought 
under the rule of the Egyptian government, 
the people have been forced to respect the 
lives and property of strangers, and travelling 
has become comparatively safe. I soon grew 
so accustomed to the ways of the inhabitants 
that by the time I reached Khartoum I felt 
quite at home among them. My experience 
had already taught me that, where a traveller 
was badly treated, it was generally his own 
fault. You must not despise a people because 
they are ignorant, because their habits are 
different, or because they sometimes annoy 
you by a natural curiosity. I found that 


28 Boys of Other Countries 

by acting in a kind yet firm manner towards 
them, and preserving my patience and good- 
nature, even when it was tried by their slow 
and careless ways, I avoided all trouble, and 
even acquired their friendly good-will. 

When I reached Khartoum, the Austrian 
Consul invited me to his house; and there 
I spent three or four weeks in that strange 
town, making acquaintance with the Egyp- 
tian officers, the chiefs of the desert tribes, and 
the former kings of the different countries of 
Ethiopia. When I left my boat, on arriving, 
and walked through the narrow streets of 
Khartoum, between mud walls, very few of 
which were even whitewashed, I thought it 
a miserable place, and began to look out for 
some garden where I might pitch my tent, 
rather than live in one of those dirty-looking 
habitations. The wall around the Consul’s 
house was of mud like the others; but when 
I entered I found clean, handsome rooms 
which furnished delightful shade and coolness 


29 


The Pasha’s Son 

during the heat of the day. The roof was of 
palm-logs, covered with mud, which the sun 
baked into a hard mass, so that the house was 
in reality as good as a brick dwelling. It was 
a great deal more comfortable than it appeared 
from the outside. 

There were other features of the place, how- 
ever, which it would be difficult to find any- 
where except in Central Africa. After I had 
taken possession of my room, and eaten break- 
fast with my host, I went out to look at the 
garden. On each side of the steps leading 
down from the door sat two apes, who barked 
and snapped at me. The next thing I saw 
was a leopard tied to the trunk of an orange- 
tree. I did not dare to go within reach of his 
rope, although I afterwards became well 
acquainted with him. A little farther, there 
was a pen full of gazelles and an antelope 
with immense horns; then two fierce, brist- 
ling hyenas; and at last, under a shed beside 
the stable, a full-grown lioness, sleeping in 


30 


Boys of Other Countries 

the shade. I was greatly surprised when the 
Consul went up to her, lifted up her head, 
opened her jaws so as to show the shining 
white tusks, and finally sat down upon her 
back. 

She accepted these familiarities so good- 
naturedly that I made bold to pat her head 
also. In a day or two we were great friends; 
she would spring about with delight whenever 
she saw me, and would purr like a cat when- 
ever I sat down upon her back. I spent an 
hour or two every day among the animals, 
and found them all easy to tame except the 
hyenas, which would gladly have bitten me 
if I had allowed them a chance. The leopard, 
one day, bit me slightly in the hand; but I 
punished him by pouring several buckets of 
water over him, and he was always very 
amiable after that. The beautiful little ga- 
zelles would cluster around me, thrusting up 
their noses into my hand, and saying, 11 Wow! 
wow!" as plainly as I write it. But none of 


The Pasha’s Son 


3i 


these animals attracted me so much as the 
big lioness. She was always good-humored, 
though occasionally so lazy that she would 
not even open her eyes when I sat down on 
her shoulder. She would sometimes catch 
my foot in her paws as a kitten catches a 
ball, and try to make a plaything of it, — 
yet always without thrusting out her claws. 
Once she opened her mouth and gently took 
one of my legs in her jaws for a moment; 
and the very next instant she put out her 
tongue and licked my hand. There seemed 
to be almost as much of the dog as of the cat 
in her nature. We all know, however, that 
there are differences of character among 
animals, as there are among men; and my 
favorite probably belonged to a virtuous and 
respectable family of lions. 

The day after my arrival I went with the 
Consul to visit the Pasha, who lived in a large 
mud palace on the bank of the Blue Nile. 
He received us very pleasantly, and invited us 


32 Boys of Other Countries 

to take seats in the shady courtyard. Here 
there was a huge panther tied to one of the 
pillars, while a little lion, about eight months 
old, ran about perfectly loose. The Pasha 
called the latter, which came springing and 
frisking towards him. “Now,” said he, “we 
will have some fun.” He then made the lion 
lie down behind one of the pillars, and called 
to one of the black boys to go across the 
courtyard on some errand. The lion lay quite 
still until the boy came opposite to the pillar, 
when he sprang out and after him. The boy 
ran, terribly frightened; but the lion reached 
him in five or six leaps, sprang upon his back 
and threw him down, and then went back to 
the pillar as if quite satisfied with his exploit. 
Although the boy was not hurt in the least, it 
seemed to me like a cruel piece of fun. The 
Pasha, nevertheless, laughed very heartily, 
and told us that he had himself trained the 
lion to frighten the boys. 

Presently the little lion went away, and 


The Pasha’s Son 


33 


when we came to look for him, we found him 
lying on one of the tables in the kitchen of 
the palace, apparently very much interested in 
watching the cook. The latter told us that 
the animal sometimes took small pieces of 
meat, but seemed to know that it was not per- 
mitted, for he would run away afterwards in 
great haste. What I saw of lions during my 
residence in Khartoum satisfied me that they 
are not very difficult to tame, — only, as they 
belong to the cat family, no dependence can 
be placed on their continued good behavior. 

Among the Egyptian officers in the city was 
a Pasha named Rufah, who had been banished 
from Egypt by the Viceroy. He was a man 
of considerable education and intelligence, and 
was very unhappy at being sent away from his 
home and family. The climate of Khartoum 
is very unhealthy, and this unfortunate Pasha 
had suffered greatly from fever. He was 
uncertain how long his exile would continue ; he 
had been there already two years, and as all 

3 


34 Boys of Other Countries 

the letters directed to him passed through the 
hands of the officers of government, he was 
quite at a loss how to get any help from his 
friends. What he had done to cause his ban- 
ishment, I could not ascertain; probably he 
did not know himself. There are no elections 
in those Eastern countries; the people have 
nothing to do with the choice of their own 
rulers. The latter are appointed by the Vice- 
roy at his pleasure, and hold office only so long 
as he allows them. The envy or jealousy of 
one Pasha may lead to the ruin of another, 
without any fault on the part of the latter. 
Probably somebody else wanted Rufah Pasha’s 
place, and slandered him to the Viceroy for 
the sake of getting him removed and exiled. 

The unhappy man inspired my profound 
sympathy. Sometimes he would spend the 
evening with the Consul and myself, because 
he felt safe in our presence, to complain of the 
tyranny under which he suffered. When we 
met him at the houses of the other Egyptian 


The Pasha’s Son 


35 


officers, he was very careful not to talk on the 
subject, lest they should report the fact to the 
government. 

Being a foreigner and a stranger, I never 
imagined that I could be of any service to 
Rufah Pasha. I did not speak the language 
well, I knew very little of the laws and regula- 
tions of the country, and moreover, I intended 
simply to pass through Egypt on my return. 
Nevertheless, one night, when we happened to 
be walking the streets together, he whispered 
that he had something special to say to me. 
Although it was bright moonlight, we had a 
native servant with us, to carry a lantern. 
The Pasha ordered the servant to walk on in 
advance; and a turn of the narrow, crooked 
streets soon hid him from our sight. Every- 
thing was quiet, except the rustling of the 
wind in the palm-trees which rose above the 
garden-walls. 

“Now,” said the Pasha, taking my hand, 
“now we can talk for a few minutes, without 


36 Boys of Other Countries 

being overheard. I want you to do me a 
favor.” 

“Willingly,” I answered, “if it is in my 
power.” 

“It will not give you much trouble,” he 
said, “and may be of great service to me. I 
want you to take two letters to Egypt, — one 
to my son, who lives in the town of Tahtah, 
and one to Mr. Murray, the English Consul- 
General, whom you know. I cannot trust the 
Egyptian merchants, because, if these letters 
were opened and read, I might be kept here 
many years longer. If you deliver them safely, 
my friends will know how to assist me, and 
perhaps I may soon be allowed to return 
home.” 

I promised to deliver both letters with my 
own hands, and the Pasha parted from me in 
more cheerful spirits at the door of the Con- 
sul’s house. After a few days I was ready to 
set out on the return journey; but, according 
to custom, I was first obliged to make farewell 


The Pasha’s Son 


37 


visits to all the officers of the government. 
It was very easy to apprise Rufah Pasha 
beforehand of my intention, and he had no 
difficulty in slipping the letters into my hand 
without the action being observed by any one. 
I put them into my portfolio, with my own let- 
ters and papers, where they were entirely safe, 
and said nothing about the matter to any one 
in Khartoum. 

Although I was glad to leave that wild town, 
with its burning climate, and retrace the long 
way back to Egypt, across the Desert and 
down the Nile, I felt very sorry at being 
obliged to take leave forever of all my pets. 
The little gazelles said, 11 Wow! Wow /” in 
answer to my “ Good-bye ” ; the hyenas howled 
and tried to bite, just as much as ever; but 
the dear old lioness I know would have been 
sorry if she could have understood that I was 
going. She frisked around me, licked my 
hand, and I took her great tawny head into 
my arms, and gave her a kiss. Since then I 


38 


Boys of Other Countries 


have never had a Hon for a pet, and may never 
have one again. I must confess, I am sorry 
for it; for I still retain my love for lions (four- 
footed ones, I mean) to this day. 

Well, it was a long journey, and I should 
have to write many days in order to describe 
it. I should have to tell of fierce sand-storms 
in the Desert; of resting in palm-groves near 
the old capital of Ethiopia; of plodding day 
after day, through desolate landscapes, on the 
back of a camel, crossing stony ranges of 
mountains, to reach the Nile again, and then 
floating down with the current in an open 
boat. It was nearly two months before I 
could deliver the first of the Pasha’s letters, — 
that which he had written to his son. The 
town of Tahtah is in Upper Egypt, near Siout; 
you will hardly find it on the maps. It stands 
on a little mound, several miles from the Nile, 
and is surrounded by the rich and beautiful 
plain which is every year overflowed by the 


river. 



“ It was a long journey ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 











The Pasha’s Son 


39 


There was a head wind, and my boat could 
not proceed very fast; so I took my faithful 
servant, Achmet, and set out on foot, taking a 
path which led over the plain between beauti- 
ful wheat-fields and orchards of lemon-trees. 
In an hour or two we reached Tahtah, — a 
queer, dark old town, with high houses and 
narrow streets. The doors and balconies were 
of carved wood, and the windows were cov- 
ered with lattices, so that no one could look 
in, although those inside could easily look out. 
There were a few sleepy merchants in the 
bazaar, smoking their pipes and enjoying the 
odors of cinnamon and dried roses which 
floated in the air. 

After some little inquiry, I found Rufah 
Pasha’s house, but was not admitted, because 
the Egyptian women are not allowed to receive 
the visits of strangers. There was a shaded 
entrance-hall, open to the street, where I was 
requested to sit, while the black serving- 
woman went to the school to bring the Pasha’s 


40 


Boys of Other Countries 

son. She first borrowed a pipe from one of 
the merchants in the bazaar, and brought it to 
me. Achmet and I sat there, while the people 
of the town, who had heard that we came from 
Khartoum and knew the Pasha, gathered 
around to ask questions. 

They were all very polite and friendly, and 
seemed as glad to hear about the Pasha as if 
they belonged to his family. In a quarter of 
an hour the woman came back, followed by 
the Pasha’s son and the schoolmaster, who had 
dismissed his school in order to hear the news. 
The boy was about eleven years old, but tall 
for his age. He had a fair face, and large dark 
eyes, and smiled pleasantly when he saw me. 
If I had not known something of the customs 
of the people, I should have given him my 
hand, perhaps drawn him between my knees, 
put an arm around his waist and talked fa- 
miliarly; but I thought it best to wait and see 
how he would behave towards me. 

He first made me a graceful salutation, just 



“ The people of the town gathered around to ask questions ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 








The Pasha’s Son 


4i 


as a man would have done, then took my hand 
and gently touched it to his heart, lips, and 
forehead, after which he took his seat on the 
high divan, or bench, by my side. Here he 
again made a salutation, clapped his hands 
thrice, to summon the woman, and ordered 
coffee to be brought. 

“Is your Excellency in good health?” he 
asked. 

“Very well, praised be Allah!” I answered. 

“Has your Excellency any commands for 
me? You have but to speak; you shall be 
obeyed.” 

“You are very kind,” said I; “but I have 
need of nothing. I bring you greetings from 
the Pasha, your father, and this letter, which I 
promised him to deliver into your own hands.” 

Thereupon I handed him the letter, which 
he laid to his heart and lips before opening. 
As he found it a little difficult to read, he 
summoned the schoolmaster, and they read it 
together in a whisper. 


42 Boys of Other Countries 

In the meantime coffee was served in little 
cups, and a very handsome pipe was brought 
by somebody for my use. After he had read 
the letter, the boy turned to me with his face a 
little flushed, and his eyes sparkling, and said, 
“Will your Excellency permit me to ask 
whether you have another letter? ” 

“Yes,” I answered; “but it is not to be 
delivered here.” 

“That is right,” said he. “When will you 
reach Cairo?” 

“It depends on the wind; but I hope in 
seven days from now.” 

The boy again whispered to the school- 
master, but presently they both nodded, as if 
satisfied, and nothing more was said on the 
subject. 

Some sherbet (which is nothing but lemon- 
ade flavored with rose-water) and pomegran- 
ates were then brought to me, and the boy 
asked whether I would not honor him by 
remaining during the rest of the day. If I 


The Pasha’s Son 


43 


had not seen his face, I should have supposed 
I was visiting a man, — so dignified and self- 
possessed and graceful was the little fellow. 
The people looked on as if they were quite 
accustomed to such mature manners in child- 
ren. I was obliged to use as much ceremony 
with the child as if he had been the governor 
of the town. But he interested me, neverthe- 
less, and I felt curious to know the subject of 
his consultation with the schoolmaster. I was 
sure they were forming some plan to have the 
Pasha recalled from exile. 

After two or three hours I left, in order to 
overtake my boat, which was slowly working 
its way down the Nile. The boy arose, and 
walked by my side to the end of the town, 
the other people following us. When we 
came out upon the plain, he took leave of me 
with the same salutations, and the words, 
'‘May God grant your Excellency a prosper- 
ous journey !” 

“May God grant it!” I responded; and 


44 


Boys of Other Countries 

all the people repeated, “May God grant it!” 

The whole interview seemed to me like a 
scene out of the Arabian Nights . To me it 
was a pretty, picturesque experience, which 
cannot be forgotten; to the people, no doubt, 
it was an every-day matter. 

When I reached Cairo, I delivered the 
other letter, and in a fortnight afterwards left 
Egypt; so that I could not ascertain, at the 
time, whether anything had been done to 
forward the Pasha's hopes. Some months 
afterwards, however, I read in a European 
newspaper, quite accidentally, that Rufah 
Pasha had returned to Egypt from Khartoum. 
I was delighted with the news; and I shall 
always believe, and insist upon it, that the 
Pasha's wise and dignified little son had a 
hand in bringing about the fortunate result. 


Jon of Iceland 


45 


9 




* 


















Ill 

Jon of Iceland 

i 

HE boys of Iceland must be con- 
tent with very few acquaintances 
and playmates. The valleys 
which produce grass enough for the farmer's 
ponies, cattle, and sheep are generally scattered 
widely apart, divided by ridges of lava so hard 
and cold that only a few wild flowers succeed 
in growing in their cracks and hollows. Then, 
since the farms must be all the larger, be- 
cause the grass is short and grows slowly in 
such a severe northern climate, the dwellings 
are rarely nearer than four or five miles apart ; 
and were it not for their swift and nimble 
ponies, the people would see very little of each 

47 



48 Boys of Other Countries 

other except on Sundays, when they ride 
long distances to attend worship in their 
little wooden churches. 

But of all boys in the island, not one was 
so lonely in his situation as Jon Sigurdson. 
His father lived many miles beyond that 
broad, grassy plain which stretches from the 
Geysers to the sea, on the banks of the swift 
river Thiorva. On each side there were 
mountains so black and bare that they looked 
like gigantic piles of coal; but the valley 
opened to the southward as if to let the sun 
in, and far away, when the weather was clear, 
the snowy top of Mount Hecla shone against 
the sky. The farmer Sigurd, Jon's father, 
was a poor man, or he would not have settled 
so far away from any neighbors; for he was 
of a cheerful and social nature, and there were 
few at Kyrkedal who could vie with him in 
knowledge of the ancient history and literature 
of Iceland. 

The house was built on a knoll, under a cliff 


Jon of Iceland 


49 


which sheltered it from the violent west and 
northwest winds. The walls, of lava stones 
and turf, were low and broad ; and the roofs 
over dwelling, storehouses, and stables were 
covered deep with earth, upon which grew 
such excellent grass that the ponies were fond 
of climbing up the sloping comers of the wall 
in order to get at it. Sometimes they might 
be seen, cunningly balanced on the steep sides 
of the roof, grazing along the very ridge-poles, 
or looking over the end of the gable when 
some member of the family came out of the 
door, as much as to say, “ Get me down if you 
can!” Around the buildings there was a 
square wall of inclosure, giving the place the 
appearance of a little fortress. 

On one side of the knoll a hot spring bub- 
bled up. In the morning or evening, when 
the air was cool, quite a little column of steam 
arose from it, whirling and broadening as it 
melted away; but the water was pure and 
wholesome as soon as it became cold enough 


50 Boys of Other Countries 

for use. In front of the house, where the sun 
shone warmest, Sigurd had laid out a small 
garden. It was a great labor for him to 
remove the huge stones and roll them into a 
protecting wall, to carry good soil from the 
places where the mountain rills had gradually 
washed it down from above, and to arrange it 
so that frosts and cold rains should do the 
least harm; and the whole family thought 
themselves suddenly rich, one summer, when 
they pulled their first radishes, saw the little 
bed of potatoes coming into blossom, and the 
cabbages rolling up their leaves in order to 
make, at least, baby-heads before the winter 
came. 

Within the house, all was low and dark and 
dismal. The air was very close and bad, for 
the stables were only separated from the dwell- 
ing-room by a narrow passage, and bunches 
of dry salt fish hung on the walls. Besides, 
it was usually full of smoke from the fire of 
peat, and, after a rain, of steam from Sigurd’s 


Jon of Iceland 


5i 


and Jon’s heavy woollen coats. But to the 
boy it was a delightful, a comfortable home, 
for within it he found shelter, warmth, food, 
and instruction. The room for visitors seemed 
to him the most splendid place in the world, 
because it had a wooden floor, a window with 
six panes of glass, a colored print of the 
King of Denmark, and a geranium in a pot. 
This was so precious a plant that Jon and his 
sister Gudrid hardly dared to touch its leaves. 
They were almost afraid to smell it, for fear of 
sniffing away some of its life; and Gudrid, 
after seeing a leaf of it laid on her dead sister’s 
bosom, insisted that some angel, many hun- 
dred years ago, had brought the seed straight 
down from heaven. 

These were Sigurd’s only children. There 
had been several more, but they had died in 
infancy, from the want of light and pure air, 
and the great distance from help when sick- 
ness came. Gudrid was still pale and slender, 
except in summer, when her mild, friendly 


52 Boys of Other Countries 

face took color from the sun; but Jon, who 
was now fourteen, was a sturdy, broad-breast- 
ed boy, who promised to be as strong as his 
father in a few years more. He had thick 
yellow hair, curling a little around his fore- 
head; large bright blue eyes; and a mouth 
rather too broad for beauty, if the lips had not 
been so rosy and the teeth so white and firm. 
He had a serious look, but it was only because 
he smiled with his eyes oftener than with his 
mouth. He was naturally true and good, for 
he hardly knew what evil was. Except his 
parents and his sister he saw no one for weeks 
at a time; and when he met other boys after 
church at Kyrkedal, so much time was always 
lost in shyly looking at each other and shrink- 
ing from the talk which each wanted to begin, 
that no very intimate acquaintance followed. 

But in spite of his lonely life, Jon was far 
from being ignorant. There were the long 
winter months, when the ponies — and some- 
times the sheep — pawed holes in the snow in 


Jon of Iceland 


53 


order to reach the grass on the bottoms beside 
the river; when the cows were warmly stabled 
and content with their meals of boiled hay; 
when the needful work of the day could be 
done in an hour or two, and then Sigurd sat 
down to teach his children, while their mother 
spun or knit beside them, and from time to 
time took part in the instruction. Jon could 
already read and write so well that the pastor 
at Kyrkedal lent him many an old Icelandic 
legend to copy; he knew the history of the 
island, as well as that of Norway and Den- 
mark, and could answer (with a good deal of 
blushing) when he was addressed in Latin. 
He also knew something of the world, and 
its different countries and climates; but this 
knowledge seemed to him like a strange 
dream, or like something that happened long 
ago and never could happen again. He was 
accustomed to hear a little birch-bush, four or 
five feet high, called “a tree,” and he could 
not imagine how any tree could be a hundred 


54 Boys of Other Countries 

feet high, or bear flowers and fruit. Once, a 
trader from Rejkiavik — the chief seaport of 
Iceland — brought a few oranges to Kyrkedal, 
and Sigurd purchased one for Jon and Gudrid. 
The children kept it day after day, never 
tired of enjoying the splendid color and 
strange, delightful perfume; so when they 
decided to cut the rind at last the pulp was 
dried up and tasteless. A city was something 
of which Jon could form no conception, for 
he had never even seen Rejkiavik ; he imagined 
that palaces and cathedrals were like large 
Icelandic farm-houses, with very few windows 
and turf growing on the roofs. 


Sigurd’s wealth, if it could be called so, 
was in a small flock of sheep, the pasture 
for which was scattered in patches for miles 
up and down the river. The care of these 
sheep had been intrusted chiefly to Jon, 
ever since he was eight years old, and he 
had learned their natures and ways — their 
simple animal virtues and silly animal vices — 
so thoroughly that they acquired a great 
respect for him, and very rarely tried to be 
disobedient. Even Thor, the ram, although 
he sometimes snorted and tossed his horns in 
protest, or stamped impatiently with his fore- 
feet, heeded his master’s voice. In fact, the 
sheep became Jon’s companions, in the absence 
of human ones; he talked to them so much 
during the lonely days that it finally seemed 


56 Boys of Other Countries 

as if they understood a great deal of his 
speech. 

There was a rough bridle-path leading up 
the valley of the Thiorva; but it was rarely 
travelled, for it struck northward into the 
cold, windy, stony desert which fills all the 
central part of Iceland. For a hundred and 
fifty miles there was no dwelling, no shelter 
from the fierce and sudden storms, and so 
little grass that the travellers who sometimes 
crossed the region ran the risk of losing their 
ponies from starvation. There were lofty 
plains of black rock, as hard as iron; groups 
of bare, snowy-headed mountains; and often, 
at night, you could see a pillar of fire in the 
distance, showing that one of the many vol- 
canoes was in action. Beyond this terrible 
wilderness the grassy valleys began again, and 
there were houses and herds, increasing as 
you came down to the bright bays along the 
northern shore of the island. 

More than once, a trader or government 



Y S.CO^usw - * 


“ In fact the sheep became Jon's companions in the absence 
of human ones ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 


\ 




Jon of Iceland 


57 


messenger, after crossing the desert, had rested 
for a night under Sigurd’s roof; and many 
were the tales of their adventures which Jon 
had treasured up in his memory. Sometimes 
they spoke of the trolls or mischievous fairies 
who came over with the first settlers from 
Norway, and were still supposed by many per- 
sons to lurk among the dark glens of Iceland. 
Both Sigurd and the pastor at Kyrkedal had 
declared that there were no such creatures, 
and Jon believed them faithfully; yet he could 
not help wondering as he sat upon some 
rocky knoll overlooking his sheep, whether a 
strange little figure might not come out of the 
chasm opposite, and speak to him. The more 
he heard of the terrors and dangers of the 
desert to the northward, the more he longed 
to see them with his own eyes and know them 
through his own experience. He was not the 
least afraid; but he knew that his father 
would never allow him to go alone, and to dis- 
obey a father was something of which he had 


58 Boys of Other Countries 

never heard, and could not have believed to 
be possible. 

When he was in his fifteenth year, however 
(it was summer, and he was fourteen in April), 
there came several weeks when no rain fell in 
the valley. It was a lovely season for the 
garden; even the geranium in the window put 
forth twice as many scarlet blossoms as ever 
before. Only the sheep began to hunger; for 
the best patch of grass in front of the house 
was carefully kept for hay, and the next best, 
further down the river, for the ponies. So 
Jon was obliged to lead his flock to a narrow 
little dell, which came down to the Thiorva, 
three or four miles to the northward. Here, 
for a week they nibbled diligently wherever 
anything green showed itself at the foot of the 
black rocks ; and when the pasture grew scanty 
again, they began to stare at Jon in a way which 
many persons might have thought stupid. He 
understood them ; they meant to say : ‘ 1 We K ve 
nearly finished this; find us something more!” 


Jon of Iceland 


59 


That evening, as he was leading his flock 
into the little enclosure beside the dwelling, 
he heard his father and mother talking. He 
thought it no harm to listen, for they had 
never said anything that was not kind and 
friendly. It seemed, however, that they were 
speaking of him, and the very first words he 
heard made his heart beat more rapidly. 

“Two days' journey away," said Sigurd, 
“are excellent pastures that belong to nobody. 
There is no sign of rain yet, and if we could 

send Jon with the sheep ” 

“Are you sure of it?" his wife asked. 
“Eyvindur stopped to talk with me,” he 
answered; “and he saw the place this morn- 
ing. He says there were rains in the desert, 
and, indeed, I ’ve thought so myself, because 
the river has not fallen; and he never knew 
as pleasant a season to cross the country.” 

“Jon might have to stay out a week or 
two; but, as you say, Sigurd, we should 
save our flock. The boy may be trusted, 


60 Boys of Other Countries 

I ’m sure; only, if anything should happen 
to him?” 

“I don’t think he ’s fearsome,” said Sigurd; 
“and what should happen to him there that 
might not happen near home?” 

They moved away, while Jon clasped the 
palms of his hands hard against each other, 
and stood still for a minute to repeat to him- 
self all he had heard. He knew Eyvindur, 
the tall, strong man with the dark, curling 
hair, who rode the swift, cream-colored pony 
with black mane and tail. He knew what 
his father meant — nothing else than that he, 
Jon, should take the sheep two days’ journey 
away, to the very edge of the terrible wilder- 
ness, and pasture them there, alone, probably 
for many days! Why, Columbus, when he 
set sail from Palos, could not have had a 
brighter dream of unknown lands! Jon went 
in to supper in such a state of excitement that 
he hardly touched the dried fish and hard 
oaten bread ; but he drank two huge bowls of 


Jon of Iceland 


61 


milk and still felt thirsty. When, at last, 
Sigurd opened his lips and spake, and the 
mother sat silent with her eyes fixed upon her 
son's face, and Gudrid looked frightened, Jon 
straightened himself as if he were already a 
man, and quietly said : “ I ’ll do it ! ” 

He wanted to shout aloud for joy; but 
Gudrid began to cry. 

However, when a thing had once been 
decided in the family, that was the end of any 
question or remonstrance, and even Gudrid 
forgot her fears in the interest of preparing 
a supply of food for Jon during his absence. 
They slept soundly for a few hours; and then, 
at two o’clock in the morning, when the sun 
was already shining on the snowy tops of the 
Arne Mountains, Jon hung the bag of pro- 
visions over his shoulder, kissed his parents 
and sister, and started northward, driving the 
sheep before him. 


Ill 

In a couple of hours he reached the far- 
thest point of the valley which he had ever 
visited, and all beyond was an unknown 
region. But the scenery, as he went onward, 
was similar in character. The mountains 
were higher and more abrupt, the river more 
rapid and foamy, and the patches of grass 
more scanty — that was all the difference. It 
was the Arctic summer, and the night brought 
no darkness; yet he knew when the time for 
rest came, by watching the direction of the 
light on the black mountains above. When 
the sheep lay down, he sought a sheltered 
place under a rock, and slept also. 

Next day the country grew wilder and 
more forbidding. Sometimes there was hardly 
a blade of grass to be seen for miles, and he 

62 



“ Started northward, driving the sheep before him ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 





Jon of Iceland 


63 


drove the sheep at full speed, running and 
shouting behind them, in his eagerness to 
reach the distant pasture which Eyvindur had 
described. In the afternoon, the valley ap- 
peared to come suddenly to an end. The 
river rushed out of a deep cleft between the 
rocks, only a few feet wide, on the right hand ; 
in front there was a long, stony slope, reaching 
so high that the clouds brushed along its sum- 
mit. In the bottom there was some little 
grass, but hardly enough to feed the flock for 
two days. 

Jon was disappointed, but not much dis- 
couraged. He tethered Thor securely to a 
rock, knowing that the other sheep would 
remain near him, and set out to climb the 
slope. Up and up he toiled; the air grew 
sharp and cold; there was snow and ice in 
the shaded hollows on either side, and the 
dark, strange scenery of Iceland grew broader 
below him. Finally, he gained the top; and 
now, for the first time, felt that he had found 


64 Boys of Other Countries 

a new world. In front, toward the north, 
there was a plain stretching as far as he could 
see; on the right and left there were groups 
of dark, frightful, inaccessible mountains, 
between the sharp peaks of which sheets of 
blue ice plunged downward like cataracts, 
only they were silent and motionless. The 
valley behind him was a mere cleft in the stony, 
lifeless world ; his sheep were little white dots, 
no bigger, apparently, than flowers of life- 
everlasting. He could only guess, beyond the 
dim ranges in the distance, where his father's 
dwelling lay; and, for a single moment, the 
thought came into his mind and made him 
tremble, — should he ever see it again? 

The pasture, he reflected, must be sought 
for in the direction from which the river came. 
Following the ridge to the eastward, it was 
not long before he saw a deep basin, a mile 
in diameter, opening among the hills. The 
bottom was quite green, and there was a 
sparkle here and there, where the river wound 


Jon of Iceland 


65 


its way through it. This was surely the place, 
and Jon felt proud that he had so readily 
discovered it. There were several glens which 
furnished easy paths down from the table- 
land, and he had no difficulty, the next morn- 
ing, in leading his flock over the great ridge. 
In fact, they skipped up the rocks as if they 
knew what was coming, and did not wait for 
Jon to show them the way into the valley. 

The first thing the boy did, after satisfying 
himself that the sheep were not likely to stray 
away from such excellent pasturage, was to 
seek for a cave or hollow among the rocks, 
where he could find shelter from storms. 
There were several such places; he selected 
the most convenient, which had a natural 
shelf for his store of provisions, and, having 
dried enough grass to make a warm, soft bed, 
he found himself very comfortably established. 
For three or four days he was too busy to 
feel his loneliness. The valley belonged to 
nobody; so he considered it his own property, 


66 Boys of Other Countries 

and called it Gudridsdale, after his sister. 
Then, in order to determine the boundaries 
of this new estate, he climbed the heights in 
all directions, and fixed the forms of every 
crag and hollow firmly in his memory. He 
was not without the secret hope that he might 
come upon some strange and remarkable 
object, — a deserted house, a high tree, or a 
hot fountain shooting up jets like the Great 
Geyser, — but there was nothing. Only the 
black and stony wilderness near at hand, and 
a multitude of snowy peaks in the distance. 

Thus ten days passed. The grass was not 
yet exhausted, the sheep grew fat and lazy, 
and Jon had so thoroughly explored the neigh- 
borhood of the valley that he could have 
found his way in the dark. He knew that 
there were only barren, uninhabitable regions 
to the right and left; but the great, bare 
table-land stretching to the northward was 
a continual temptation, for there were human 
settlements beyond. As he wandered farther 


Jon of Iceland 


67 


and farther in that direction, he found it hard- 
er to return ; there was always a ridge in ad- 
vance, the appearance of a mountain pass, 
the sparkle of a little lake, — some promise of 
something to be seen by going just a little 
beyond his turning-point. He was so careful 
to notice every slight feature of the scenery, — 
a jutting rock here, a crevice there, — in case 
mist or rain should overtake him on the way, 
that the whole region soon became strangely 
familiar. 

Jon’s desire to explore the road leading to 
the northward grew so strong, that he at last 
yielded to it. But first he made every arrange- 
ment for the safety of the sheep during his 
absence. He secured the ram Thor by a 
long tether and an abundance of cut grass, 
concealed the rest of his diminishing supply of 
provisions; climbed the nearest heights and 
overlooked the country on all sides without 
discovering a sign of life, and then, after a 
rest which was more like a waking dream 


68 Boys of Other Countries 

than a slumber, began his strange and solitary 
journey. 

The sun had just become visible again, low 
in the northeast, when he reached the level of 
the table-land. There were few clouds in 
the sky, and but little wind blowing; yet a sin- 
gular brownish haze filled the air, and spots 
of strong light soon appeared on either side 
of the sun. Jon had often seen these “mock 
suns’ ’ before; they are frequent in northern 
latitudes, and are supposed to denote a change 
in the weather. The phenomenon, and the 
feeling of heaviness in the air, led him to 
study the landmarks very keenly and cau- 
tiously as he advanced. In two or three hours 
he had passed the limits of his former excur- 
sions; and now, if a storm should arise, his 
very life might depend on his being able to 
find the way back. 

During the day, however, there was no 
change in the weather. The lonely, rugged 
mountains, the dark little lakes of melted 


Jon of Iceland 


69 


snow lying at their feet, the stony plain, with 
its great, irregular fissures where the lava had 
cracked in cooling, — all these features of the 
great central desert of Iceland lay hard and 
clear before his eyes. Like all persons who 
are obliged to measure time without a watch 
or clock, he had a very correct sense of the 
hours of the day, and of the distances he 
walked from point to point. Where there 
was no large or striking object near at hand, 
he took the trouble to arrange several stones 
in a line pointing to the next landmark behind 
him, as a guide in case of fog. 

It was an exciting, a wonderful day in his 
life, and Jon never forgot it. He never once 
thought of the certain danger which he in- 
curred. Instead of fear, he was full of a joy- 
ous, inspiring courage; he sang and shouted 
aloud, as some new peak or ridge of hills arose 
far in front, or some other peak, already 
familiar, went out of sight far behind him. 
He scarcely paused to eat or rest, until nearly 


70 Boys of Other Countries 

twelve hours had passed, and he had walked 
fully thirty miles. By that time the sun was 
low in the west, and barely visible through the 
gathering haze. The wind moaned around 
the rocks with a dreary, melancholy sound, 
and only the cry of a wild swan was heard in 
the distance. To the north the mountains 
seemed higher, but they were divided by deep 
gaps which indicated the commencement of 
valleys. There, perhaps, there might be run- 
ning streams, pastures, and the dwellings of 
men! 

Jon had intended to return to his flock on 
the morrow, but now the temptation to press 
onward for another day became very great. 
His limbs, however, young and strong as they 
were, needed some rest; and lie speedily de- 
cided what to do next. A lighter streak in 
the rocky floor of the plain led his eye toward 
a low, broken peak — in reality, the crater of 
a small extinct volcano — some five miles off, 
and lying to the right of what he imagined to 





All these features of the great central desert of Iceland lay hard and 
clean before his eyes ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 



Jon of Iceland 71 

be the true course. On the left there were 
other peaks, but immediately in front nothing 
which would serve as a landmark. The cra- 
ter, therefore, besides offering him some shel- 
ter in its crevices, was decidedly the best 
starting-point, either for going on or return- 
ing. The lighter color of the rock came from 
some different mixture in the lava of an old 
eruption, and could easily be traced through- 
out the whole intervening distance. He fol- 
lowed it rapidly, now that the bearings were 
laid down, and reached the ruins of the vol- 
cano a little after sunset. 

There was no better bed to be found than 
the bottom of a narrow cleft, where the winds, 
after blowing for many centuries, had de- 
posited a thin layer of sand. Before he lay 
down, Jon arranged a line of stones, pointing 
toward the light streak across the plain, and 
another line giving the direction of the valleys 
to the northward. To the latter he added 
two short, slanting lines at the end, forming a 


72 Boys of Other Countries 

figure like an arrow-head, and then, highly 
satisfied with his ingenuity, lay down in the 
crevice to sleep. But his brain was so excited 
that for a long time he could do nothing else 
than go over, in memory, the day’s journey. 
The wind seemed to be rising, for it whistled 
like a tremendous fife through the rocky 
crevice ; father and mother and Gudrid seemed 
to be far, far away, in a different land; he 
wondered at last whether he was the same 
Jon Sigurdson who drove the flock of sheep 
up the valley of the Thiorva — and then, all 
at once, he stopped wondering and thinking, 
for he was too soundly asleep to dream even 
of a roasted potato. 


IV 


How much time passed in the sleep he 
could never exactly learn; probably six to 
seven hours. He was aroused by what seemed 
to be icy-cold rats’ feet scampering over his 
face, and as he started and brushed them 
away with his hand, his ears became alive to 
a terrible, roaring sound. He started up, 
alarmed, at first bewildered, then suddenly 
wide awake. The cold feet upon his face 
were little threads of water trickling from 
above; the fearful roaring came from a storm 
• — a hurricane of mixed rain, wind, cloud, and 
snow. It was day, yet still darker than the 
Arctic summer night, so dense and black was 
the tempest. When Jon crept out of the 
crevice, he was nearly thrown down by the 
force of the wind. The first thing he did was 
73 


74 


Boys of Other Countries 

to seek the two lines of stones he had arranged 
for his guidance. They had not been blown 
away as he feared ; and the sight of the arrow- 
head made his heart leap with gratitude to the 
Providence which had led him, for without 
that sign he would have been bewildered at 
the very start. Returning to the cleft, which 
gave a partial shelter, he ate the greater part of 
his remaining store of food, fastening his thick 
coat tightly around his breast and throat, and 
set out on the desperate homeward journey, 
carefully following the lighter streak of rock 
across the plain 

He had not gone more than a hundred 
yards when he fancied he heard a sharp, ham- 
mering sound through the roar of the tempest, 
and paused to listen. The sound came rapidly 
nearer; it was certainly the hoofs of many 
horses. Nothing could be seen; the noise 
came from the west, passed in front of Jon, 
and began to die away to the eastward. His 
blood grew chilled for a moment. It was all 


Jon of Iceland 


75 


so sudden and strange and ghostly that he 
knew not what to think; and he was about to 
push forward and get out of the region where 
such things happened, when he heard, very 
faintly, the cry which the Icelanders use in 
driving their baggage-ponies. Then he remem- 
bered the deep gorge he had seen to the east- 
ward, before reaching the crater; the invisible 
travellers were riding toward it, probably lost, 
and unaware of their danger. 

This thought passed through Jon’s mind 
like a flash of lightning; he shouted with all 
the strength of his voice. 

He waited, but there was no answer. Then 
he shouted again, while the wind seemed to 
tear the sound from his lips and fling it away 
— but on the course the hoofs had taken. 

This time a cry came in return; it seemed 
far off, because the storm beat against the 
sound. Jon shouted a third time, and the 
answer was now more distinct. Presently he 
distinguished words: 


76 


Boys of Other Countries 


“ Come here to us ! ” 

“I cannot!” he cried. 

In a few minutes more he heard the hoofs 
returning, and then the forms of ponies 
became visible through the driving snow- 
clouds. They halted, forming a semicircle in 
front of him; and then one of three dim, spec- 
tral riders leaning forward again called: 
“Come here!” 

“I cannot!” Jon answered again. 

Thereupon, another of the horsemen rode 
close to him, and stared down upon him. 
He said something which Jon understood to 
be: “Erik, it is a little boy!” — but he was 
not quite sure, for the man's way of talking 
was strange. He put the words in the wrong 
places, and pronounced them curiously. 

The man who had first spoken jumped off 
his horse. Holding the bridle, he came for- 
ward and said, in good, plain Icelandic: 

“Why couldn’t you come when I called 
you?” 



Jon’s meeting with the horsemen 





Jon of Iceland 


77 


“I am keeping the road back,” replied Jon; 
* ‘if I move, I might lose it.” 

“ Then why did you call us? ” 

“I was afraid you had lost your way, and 
might get into the chasm ; the storm is so bad 
you could not see it.” 

“What’s that?” exclaimed the first who 
had spoken. 

Jon described the situation as well as he 
could, and the stranger at last said, in his 
queer, broken speech: “Lost way — we; can 
guide — you — know how?” 

The storm raged so furiously that it was 
with great difficulty that Jon heard the words 
at all; but he thought he understood the 
meaning. So he looked the man in the face, 
and nodded, silently. 

‘ ‘ Erik — pony ! ’ ’ cried the latter. 

Erik caught one of the loose ponies, drew 
it forward, and said to Jon: 

“Now mount and show us the way!” 

“I cannot!” Jon repeated. “I will guide 


78 


Boys of Other Countries 

you: I was on my way already, but I must 
walk back just as I came, so as to find the 
places and know the distances.” 

“ Sir,” said Erik, turning to the other travel- 
ler, “we must let him have his will. It is our 
only chance of safety. The boy is strong and 
fearless, and we can surely follow where he 
was willing to go alone.” 

“Take the lead, boy!” the other said; 
“more quick, more money!” 

Jon walked rapidly in advance, keeping his 
eyes on the lighter colored streak in the plain. 
He saw nothing, but every little sign and 
landmark was fixed so clearly in his mind 
that he did not feel the least fear or con- 
fusion. He could hardly see, in fact, the 
foremost of the ponies behind him, but he 
caught now and then a word, as the men 
talked with each other. They had come 
from the northern shore of the island; they 
were lost, they were chilled, weary; their 
ponies were growing weak from hunger and 


Jon of Iceland 


79 


exposure to the terrible weather; and they 
followed him, not so much because they 
trusted his guidance, as because there was 
really nothing else left for them to do. 

In an hour and a half they reached the first 
landmark; and when the men saw Jon exam- 
ining the line of stones he had laid, and then 
striking boldly off through the whirling clouds, 
they asked no questions, but urged their 
ponies after him. Thus several hours went 
by. Point after point was discovered, 
although no object could be seen until it was 
reached; but Jon's strength, which had been 
kept up by his pride and his anxiety, at last 
began to fail. The poor boy had been so 
long exposed to the wind, snow, and icy rain, 
that his teeth chattered in his head, and his 
legs trembled as he walked. About noon, 
fortunately, there was a lull in the storm; the 
rain slackened, and the clouds lifted them- 
selves so that one might see for a mile or 
more. He caught sight of the rocky corner 


So 


Boys of Other Countries 


for which he was steering, stopped and pointed 
toward one of the loose ponies. 

Erik jumped from the saddle, and threw 
his arms around Jon, whose senses were fast 
vanishing. He felt that something was put 
to his lips, that he was swallowing fire, and 
that his icy hands were wrapped in a soft, 
delicious warmth. In a minute he found that 
Erik had thrust them under his jacket, while 
the other two were bending over him with 
anxious faces. The stranger who spoke so 
curiously held a cake to his mouth, saying: 
“Eat — eat!” It was wonderful how his 
strength came back! 

Very soon he was able to mount the pony 
and take the lead. Sometimes the clouds fell 
dense and dark around them; but when they 
lifted only for a second, it was enough for Jon. 
Men and beasts suffered alike, and at last 
Erik said: 

“Unless we get out of the desert in three 
hours, we must all perish!” 


Jon of Iceland 


8 1 


Jon’s face brightened. “In three hours,” 
he exclaimed, “there will be pasturage and 
water and shelter.” 

He was already approaching the region 
which he knew thoroughly, and there was 
scarcely a chance of losing the way. They 
had more than one furious gust to encounter 
— more than one moment when the famished 
and exhausted ponies halted and refused to 
move; but toward evening the last ridge was 
reached, and they saw below them, under a 
dark roof of clouds, the green valley-basin, 
the gleam of the river, and the scattered 
white specks of the grazing sheep. 


V 

The ram Thor bleated loudly when he saw 
his master. Jon was almost too weary to 
move hand or foot, but he first visited every 
sheep, and examined his rough home under 
the rock, and his few remaining provisions, 
before he sat down to rest. By this time, 
the happy ponies were appeasing their hunger, 
Erik and his fellow-guide had pitched a white 
tent, and there was a fire kindled. The 
owner of the tent said something which Jon 
could not hear, but Erik presently shouted : 

“The English gentleman asks you to come 
and take supper with us!” 

Jon obeyed, even more from curiosity than 
hunger. The stranger had a bright, friendly 
face, and stretched out his hand as the boy 

entered the tent. “Good guide — eat!” was 
82 


Jon of Iceland 


83 


all he was able to say in Icelandic, but the 
tone of his voice meant a great deal more. 
There was a lamp hung to the tent-pole, an 
india-rubber blanket spread on the ground, 
and cups and plates, which shone like silver, 
in readiness for the meal. Jon was amazed 
to see Erik boiling three or four tin boxes in 
the kettle of water; but when they had been 
opened, and the contents poured into basins, 
such a fragrant steam rose as he had never 
smelled in his life. There was pea-soup, and 
Irish stew, and minced collops and beef, 
and tea, with no limit to the lumps of sugar, 
and sweet biscuits, and currant jelly! Never 
had he sat down to such a rich, such a wonder- 
ful banquet. He was almost afraid to take 
enough of the dishes, but the English traveller 
filled his plate as fast as it was emptied, patted 
him on the back, and repeated the words: 
‘ ‘ Good guide— eat ! ’ ’ Then he lighted a cigar, 
while Erik and the other Icelander pulled out 
their horns of snuff, threw back their heads, 


84 Boys of Other Countries 

and each poured nearly a teaspoonful into his 
nostrils. They offered the snuff to Jon, but 
he refused both that and a cigar. He was 
warm and comfortable, to the ends of his toes, 
and his eyelids began to fall, in spite of all 
efforts to hold them up, after so much fatigue 
and exposure as he had endured. 

In fact, his senses left him suddenly, 
although he seemed to be aware that some- 
body lifted and laid him down again — that 
something soft came under his head, and 
something warm over his body — that he was 
safe, and sheltered, and happy. 

When he awoke it was bright day. He 
started up, striking his head against a white, 
wet canvas, and sat a moment, bewildered, 
trying to recall what had happened. He 
could scarcely believe that he had slept all 
night in a tent, beside the friendly English- 
man; but he heard Erik talking outside, and 
the crackling of a fire, and the shouting of 
some one at a distance. The sky was clear 


Jon of Iceland 


85 


and blue; the sheep and ponies were nibbling 
sociably together, and the Englishman, stand- 
ing on a rock beside the river, was calling 
attention to a big salmon which he had just 
caught. Gudridsdale, just then, seemed the 
brightest and liveliest place in Iceland. 

Jon knew that he had probably saved the 
party from death; but he thought nothing of 
that, for he had saved himself along with 
them. He was simply proud and overjoyed 
at the chance of seeing something new — of 
meeting with a real Englishman, and eat- 
ing (as he supposed) the foreign, English 
food. He felt no longer shy, since he had 
slept a whole night beside the traveller. The 
two Icelandic guides were already like old 
friends; even the pony he had ridden seemed 
to recognize him. His father had told him 
that Latin was the language by which all edu- 
cated men were able to communicate their 
ideas; so as the Englishman came up with his 
salmon for their breakfast, he said, in Latin: 


86 


Boys of Other Countries 


“ To-day is better than yesterday, sir.” 

The traveller laughed, shook hands heartily, 
and answered in Latin, with — to Jon’s great 
surprise — two wrong cases in the nouns: 

“Both days are better for you than for me. 
I have learned less at Oxford.” 

But the Latin and Icelandic together were 
a great help to conversation, and almost before 
he knew what he was doing, Jon had told 
Mr. Lome — so the traveller was named — all 
the simple story of his life, even his claim to 
the little valley-basin wherein they were 
encamped, and the giving it his sister’s name. 
Mr. Lome had crossed from the little town of 
Akureyri, on the northern shore of Iceland, 
and was bound down the valley of Thiorva to 
the Geysers, thence to Hekla, and finally to 
Rejkiavik, where he intended to embark for 
England. As Jon’s time of absence had 
expired, his provisions being nearly consumed, 
and as it was also necessary to rest a day for 
the sake of the traveller’s ponies, it was ar- 


Jon of Iceland 87 

ranged so that all should return in company 
to Sigurd’s farm. 

That last day in Gudridsdale was the most 
delightful of all. They feasted sumptuously 
on the traveller’s stores, and when night came 
the dried grass from Jon’s hollow under the 
rock was spread within the tent, making a soft 
and pleasant bed for the whole party. 

Mounted on one of the ponies, Jon led the 
way up the long ravine, cheerily singing as he 
drove the full-fed sheep before him. They 
reached the level of the desert table-land, and 
he gave one more glance at the black, scat- 
tered mountains to the northward where he 
had passed two such adventurous days. In 
spite of all that he had seen and learned in 
that time, he felt a little sad that he had not 
succeeded in crossing the wilderness. When 
they reached the point where their way de- 
scended by a long, deep slope to the valley of 
the Thiorva, he turned for yet another fare- 
well view. Far off, between him and the 


88 


Boys of Other Countries 


nearest peak, there seemed to be a moving 
speck. He pointed it out to Erik, who, after 
gazing steadily a moment, said, “ It is a man 
on horseback.’ ’ 

“Perhaps another lost traveller!” exclaimed 
Mr. Lome; “let us wait for him.” 

It was quite safe to let the sheep and loose 
ponies take their way in advance; for they 
saw the pasture below them. In a quarter of 
an hour the man and horse could be clearly 
distinguished. The former had evidently seen 
them also, for he approached much more rap- 
idly than at first. 

All at once Jon cried out: “It is our pony, 
Heimdal ! It must be my father ! ’ ’ 

He sprang from the saddle as he spoke, and 
ran towards the strange horseman. The latter 
presently galloped up, dismounted, walked a 
few steps, and sat down upon a stone. But 
Jon’s arms were around him, and as they 
kissed each other, the father burst into 
tears. 


Jon of Iceland 89 

“I thought thou wert lost, my boy,” was all 
he could say. 

“But here I am, father!” Jon proudly 
exclaimed. 

“And the sheep?” 

“Fat and sound, every one of them.” 

Sigurd rose and mounted his horse, and as 
they all descended the slope together Jon and 
Erik told him all that had happened. Mr. 
Lome, to whom the occurrence was explained, 
shook hands with him, and, pointing to Jon, 
said in his broken way: “Good son — little 
man!” Whereupon they all laughed, and 
Jon could not help noticing the proud and 
happy expression of his father’s face. 

On the afternoon of the second day they 
reached Sigurd’s farmhouse; but the mother 
and Gudrid, who had kept up an anxious look- 
out, met them nearly a mile away. After the 
first joyous embrace of welcome, Sigurd whis- 
pered a few words to his wife, and she hast- 
ened back to put the guest-room in order. 


90 


Boys of Other Countries 


Mr. Lome found it so pleasant to get under a 
roof again, that he ordered another halt of 
two days before going on to the Geysers and 
Hekla. No beverage ever tasted so sweet to 
him as the great bowl of milk which Gudrid 
brought as soon as he had taken his seat, and 
the radishes from the garden seemed a great 
deal better than the little jar of orange mar- 
malade which he insisted on giving in exchange 
for them. 

“Oh, is it indeed orange?” cried Gudrid. 
“Jon, Jon, now we shall know what the taste 
is!” 

Their mother gave them a spoonful apiece, 
and Mr. Lome smiled as he saw their wonder- 
ing, delighted faces. 

“Does it really grow on a tree? — and how 
high is the tree? — and what does it look like? 
— like a birch? — or a potato-plant?” Jon 
asked, in his eagerness, without waiting for 
the answers. It was very difficult for him to 
imagine what he had never seen, even in pic- 


Jon of Iceland 


9i 


tures, or anything resembling it. Mr. Lome 
tried to explain how different are the produc- 
tions of nature in warmer climates, and the 
children listened as if they could never hear 
enough of the wonderful story. At last Jon 
said, in his firm, quiet way, “Some day I ’ll 
go there!’’ 

“You will, my boy,” Mr. Lome replied; 
“you have strength and courage to carry out 
your will.” 

Jon never imagined that he had more 
strength or courage than any other boy, but 
he knew that the Englishman meant to praise 
him, so he shook hands as he had been taught 
to do on receiving a gift. 

The two days went by only too quickly. 
The guest furnished food both for himself and 
the family, for he shot a score of plovers and 
caught half a dozen fine salmon. He was so 
frank and cheerful that they soon became 
accustomed to his presence, and were heartily 
sorry when Erik and the other Icelandic guide 


92 Boys of Other Countries 

went out to drive the ponies together, and 
load them for the journey. Mr. Lome called 
Sigurd and Jon into the guest-room, untied a 
buckskin pouch, and counted out fifty silver 
rix-dollars upon the table. “For my little 
guide!” he said, putting his hand on Jon’s 
thick curls. Father and son, in their astonish- 
ment, uttered a cry at the same time, and 
neither knew what to say. But, brokenly as 
Mr. Lome talked, they understood him when 
he said that Jon had probably saved his life, 
that he was a brave boy and would make a 
good, brave man, and that if the father did not 
need the money for his farm expenses, he 
should apply it to his son’s education. 

The tears were mnning down Sigurd’s 
cheeks. He took the Englishman’s hand, 
gave it a powerful grip, and simply said, “It 
shall be used for his benefit.” 

Jon was so strongly moved that, without 
stopping to think, he did the one thing which 
his heart suggested. He walked up to Mr. 


Jon of Iceland 


93 


Lome, threw his arms around his neck, and 
kissed him very tenderly. 

“All is ready, sir!” cried Erik, at the door. 
The last packages were carried out and tied 
upon the baggage-ponies, farewells were said 
once more, and the little caravan took its way 
down the valley. The family stood in front 
of the house, and watched until the ponies 
turned around the first cape of the hills and 
disappeared; then they could only sit down 
and talk of all the unexpected things that had 
happened. There was no work done upon 
the farm that day. 


VI 


The unusual warmth of the summer, which 
was so injurious to the pastures lying near 
the southern coast, brought fortune to 
Sigurd's farm. The price of wool was much 
higher than usual, and owing to Jon's excur- 
sion into the mountains, the sheep were in 
the best possible condition. They had never 
raised such a crop of potatoes, nor such firm, 
thick-headed cabbages, and by great care 
and industry a sufficient supply of hay had 
been secured for the winter. 

“I am afraid something will happen to us," 
said Sigurd one day to his wife; “the good 
luck comes too fast." 

“Don't say that!" she exclaimed. “If we 
were to lose Jon " 

“Jon ! " interrupted Sigurd. “ Oh, no ; look 
94 


Jon of Iceland 


95 


at his eyes, his breast, his arms, and his legs 
— there are a great many years of life in them! 
He ought to have a chance at the school in 
Rejkiavik, but we can hardly do without him 
this year.” 

“ Perhaps brother Magnus would take him,” 
she said. 

“Not while I live,” Sigurd replied, as he 
left the room, while his wife turned with a 
sigh to her household duties. Her family, 
and especially her elder brother, Magnus, who 
was a man of wealth and influence, had bitterly 
opposed her marriage with Sigurd, on account 
of the latter’s poverty, and she had seen none 
of them since she came to live on the lonely 
farm. Through great industry and frugality 
they had gradually prospered; and now she 
began to long for a reconciliation, chiefly for 
her husband’s and children’s sake. It would 
be much better for Jon if he could find a home 
in his uncle’s house when they were able to 
send him to school. 


96 Boys of Other Countries 

So, when they next rode over to Kyrkedal 
on a Sabbath day in the late autumn, she took 
with her a letter to Magnus, which she had 
written without her husband’s knowledge, for 
she wished to save him the pain of the slight, 
in case her brother should refuse to answer or 
should answer in an unfriendly way. It was 
a pleasant day for all of them, for Mr. Lome 
had stopped a night at Kyrkedal, and Erik 
had told the story of Jon’s piloting them 
through the wilderness; so the pastor, after 
service, came up at once to them and patted 
Jon on the head, saying; “ Bene fecisti, fill /” 
And the other boys, forgetting their usual 
shyness, crowded around and said: “Tell us 
all about it!” Everything was as wonderful 
to them as it still seemed to Jon in his mem- 
ory, and when each one said: “If I had gone 
there I should have done the same thing!” 
Jon wondered that he and the boys should 
ever have felt so awkward and bashful when 
they came together. Now it was all changed; 


Jon of Iceland 


97 


they talked and joked like old companions, 
and cordially promised to visit each other dur- 
ing the winter, if their parents were willing. 

On the way home Sigurd found that he had 
dropped his whip, and sent Jon back to look 
for it, leaving his wife and Gudrid to ride 
onward up the valley. Jon rode at least half a 
mile before he found it, and then came gallop- 
ing back, cracking it joyously. But Sigurd’s 
face was graver and wearier than usual. 

“Ride a little while with me,” he said; “I 
want to ask thee something.” Then, as Jon 
rode beside him in the narrow tracks which 
the ponies’ hoofs had cut through the turf, 
he added: “The boys at Kyrkedal seemed to 
make much of thee; I hope thy head is not 
turned by what they said.” 

“Oh, father!” Jon cried; “they were so 
kind, so friendly!” 

“I don’t doubt it,” his father answered. 
“Thou hast done well, my son, and I see 
that thou art older than thy years. But sup- 


98 


Boys of Other Countries 

pose there were a heavier task in store for 
thee, — suppose that I should be called away, — 
couldst thou do a man’s part, and care prop- 
erly for thy mother and thy little sister?” 

Jon’s eyes filled with tears, and he knew 
not what to say. 

“Answer me,” Sigurd commanded. 

“I never thought of that,” Jon answered, 
in a trembling voice; “but if I were to do my 
best, would not God help me?” 

“ He would ! ” Sigurd exclaimed with energy. 
“All strength comes from Him, and all for- 
tune. Enough — I can trust thee, my son; 
ride on to Gudrid, and tell her not to twist 
herself in the saddle, looking back!” 

Sigurd attended to his farm for several 
days longer, but in a silent, dreamy way, as 
if his mind were busy with other thoughts. 
His wife was so anxiously waiting the result 
of her letter to Magnus, that she paid less 
attention to his condition than she otherwise 
would have done. 


Jon of Iceland 


99 


But one evening, on returning from the 
stables, he passed by the table where their 
frugal supper was waiting, entered the bed- 
room, and sank down, saying: 

“All my strength has left me; I feel as if 
I should never rise again.” 

They then saw that he had been attacked 
by a dangerous fever, for his head was hot, 
his eyes glassy, and he began to talk in a wild, 
incoherent way. They could only do what 
the neighbors were accustomed to do in similar 
cases, — which really was worse than doing 
nothing at all would have been. Jon was 
despatched next morning, on the best pony, 
to summon the physician from Skalholt; but, 
even with the best luck, three days must 
elapse before the latter could arrive. The 
good pastor of Kyrkedal came the next day 
and bled Sigurd, which gave him a little 
temporary quiet, while it reduced his vital 
force. The physician was absent, visiting 
some farms to the eastward, — in fact, it was 


ioo Boys of Other Countries 

a full week before he made his appearance. 
During this time Sigurd wasted away, his fits 
of delirium became more frequent, and the 
chances of his recovery grew less and less. 
Jon recalled, now, his father’s last conversa- 
tion, and it gave him both fear and comfort. 
He prayed, with all the fervor of his boyish 
nature, that his father’s life might be spared ; 
yet he determined to do his whole duty, if the 
prayer should not be granted. 


VII 

At the end of two weeks, Sigurd's wife 
received a letter from her brother, and it was 
better than she had dared to hope. Mag- 
nus wrote that his wife was dead, his son was 
a student in Copenhagen, and he was all alone 
in the big house at Rejkiavik. He was ready 
to give Jon a home, even to take herself and 
her husband, provided the latter could sell 
his farm to good advantage and find some 
employment which would add to his means. 
“He must neither live an idle life nor depend 
on my help," Magnus said; and his sister 
felt that he was right, although he told the 
truth in rather a hard, unfriendly way. 

She read the letter to Sigurd the next 
morning, as he was lying very weak and 
quiet, but in his right mind. His eyes slowly 


I OI 


102 Boys of Other Countries 

brightened, and he murmured, at last, with 
difficulty: 

“Sell the farm to Thorsten, for his eldest 
son, and go to Magnus. Jon will take my 
place.” 

Jon, who had entered the room in time to 
hear these words, sat down on the bed and 
held his father’s hand in both his own. The 
latter smiled faintly, opened his lips to speak 
again, and then a sudden quivering passed 
over his face, and he lay strangely still. It 
was a long time before the widow and child- 
ren could believe he was dead. They said 
to each other, over and over again, amid their 
tears: “He was happy; the trouble for our 
sakes was taken away from his heart;” — 
and Jon thought to himself: “If I do my 
best, as I promised, he will be still happier in 
heaven.” 

When Sigurd’s death was known, the neigh- 
bors came and helped them until the funeral 
was over, and the sad little household resumed, 


Jon of Iceland 


103 


as far as possible, its former way of life. 
Thorsten, a rich farmer of Kyrkedal, whose 
son was to be married in the spring, came, a 
few weeks later, to make an offer for the farm. 
No doubt he hoped to get it at a low price; 
for money has a greater value in Iceland, 
where there is so little of it. But the widow 
said at once, “I shall make no bargain unless 
Jon agrees with me;” and then Jon spoke up, 
looking a great deal more like a full-grown, 
honest man than he supposed : 

“ We only want the fair value of the farm, 
neighbor Thorsten. We want it because we 
need it, and everybody will say it is just and 
right that we should have it. If we cannot 
get that, I shall try to go on and do my father’s 
work. I am only a boy now, but I shall get 
bigger and stronger every year.” 

“Thy father could not have spoken better 
words,” said Thorsten. 

He made what he considered a fair offer, 
and it was very nearly as much as Jon and his 


104 Boys of Other Countries 

mother had reckoned upon; the latter, how- 
ever, insisted on waiting until she had con- 
sulted with her brother Magnus. 

Not many days after that, Magnus himself 
arrived at the farm. He was a tall man, with 
dark hair, large gray eyes, a thin, hard mouth, 
and an important, commanding air. It was a 
little hard for Jon to say “uncle” to this man, 
whom he had never seen, and of whom he had 
heard so little. Magnus, although stem, was 
not unfriendly, and when he had heard of all 
that had been said and done, he nodded his 
head and said : 

“ Very prudent; very well, so far!” 

It was, perhaps, as well that the final settle- 
ment of affairs was left to Uncle Magnus, for 
he not only obtained an honest price for the 
farm, but sold the ponies, cows, and sheep to 
much better advantage than the family could 
have done. He had them driven to Kyrkedal, 
and sent messengers to Skalholt and Myrdal, 
and even to Thingvalla, so that quite a number 


Jon of Iceland 


105 


of farmers came together, and they had dinner 
in the church. Some of the women and child- 
ren also came, to say “good-bye” to the 
family; but when the former whispered to 
Jon, “You ’ll come back to us some day, as 
a pastor or a skald ” (author), Magnus frowned 
and shook his head. 

“The boy is in a fair way to make an honest, 
sensible man,” he said. “Don’t you spoil 
him with your nonsense! ” 

When they all set out together for Rejki- 
avik, Jon reproached himself for feeling so 
light-hearted, while his mother and Gudrid 
wept for miles of the way. He was going to 
see a real town, to enter school, to begin a 
new and wonderful life; and just beyond 
Kyrkedal there came the first strange sight. 
They rode over the grassy plain toward the 
Geysers, the white steam of which they had 
often seen in the distance; but now, as they 
drew near a gray cone, which rose at the foot 
of the hill on the west, a violent thumping 


106 Boys of Other Countries 

began in the earth under their feet. “He is 
going to spout!” cried the guide, and he had 
hardly spoken when the basin in the top of 
the cone boiled over furiously, throwing huge 
volumes of steam into the air. Then there 
was a sudden, terrible jar, and a pillar of 
water, six feet in diameter, shot up to the 
height of nearly a hundred feet, sparkling like 
liquid gold in the low, pale, sunshine. It rose 
again and again, until the subterranean force 
was exhausted; then the water fell back into 
the basin with a dull sound, and all was over. 

They could think or talk of nothing else for 
a time, and when they once more looked about 
them the landscape had changed. All was 
new to the children, and only dimly remem- 
bered by their mother. The days were very 
short and dark, for winter was fast coming on; 
it was often difficult to make the distance 
from one farmhouse to another, and they 
twice slept in the little churches, which are 
always hospitably opened for travellers 


Jon of Iceland 107 

because there are no inns in Iceland. After 
leaving the valley, they had a bitterly cold 
and stormy journey over a high field of lava, 
where little piles of stones, a few yards apart, 
are erected to guide the traveller. Beyond 
this, they crossed the Raven's Cleft, a deep, 
narrow chasm, with a natural bridge in one 
place, where the rocks have fallen together 
from either side; then, at the bottom of the 
last slope of the lava-plains, they entered the 
Thingvalla Forest. 

Jon was a little disappointed; still he had 
never seen anything like it. There were 
willow and birch bushes, three or four feet 
high, growing here and there out of the cracks 
among the rocks. He could look over the 
tops of them from his pony, as he rode along, 
and the largest trunk was only big enough to 
make a club. But there is no other “forest” 
in Iceland; and the people must have some- 
thing to represent a forest, or they would have 
no use for the word ! 


io8 Boys of Other Countries 

It was fast growing dark when they reached 
Thingvalla, and the great, shattered walls of 
rock which inclose the valley appeared much 
loftier than by day. On the right, a glimmer- 
ing waterfall plunged from the top of the cliff, 
and its roar filled the air. Magnus pointed 
out, on the left, the famous “Hill of the 
Law,” where for nearly nine hundred years the 
people of Iceland had assembled together to 
discuss their political matters. Jon knew all 
about the spot, from the many historical 
legends and poems he had read, and there was 
scarcely another place in the whole world 
which he could have had greater interest in 
seeing. The next morning, when it was barely 
light enough to travel, they rode up a kind of 
rocky ladder, through a great fissure called the 
Almannagja , or “People's Chasm," and then 
pushed on more rapidly across the barren 
table-land. It was still forty miles to Rej- 
kiavik, — a good two days' journey at that 
season, — and the snows, which already cov- 


Jon of Iceland 


109 


ered the mountains, were beginning to fall on 
the lower country. 

On the afternoon of the second day, after 
they had crossed the Salmon River, Magnus 
said: 

“In an hour we shall see the town!” 

But the first thing that came in sight was 
only a stone tower or beacon, which the stu- 
dents had built upon a hill. 

“Is that a town?” asked Gudrid; where- 
upon the others laughed heartily. 

Jon discreetly kept silent, and waited until 
they had reached the foot of the beacon, when 
— all at once — Rejkiavik lay below them. Its 
two or three hundred houses stretched for half 
a mile over a belt of land between the sea and 
a large lake. There was the prison, built all 
of cut stone; the old wooden cathedral, with 
its square spire; the large, snow-white gov- 
ernor’s house, and the long row of stores and 
warehouses, fronting the harbor — all visible 
at once ! To a boy who had never before seen 


no Boys of Other Countries 

a comfortable dwelling, nor more than five 
houses near together, the little town was a 
grand, magnificent capital. Each house they 
passed was a new surprise to him; the doors, 
windows, chimneys, and roofs were all so dif- 
ferent, so large and fine. And there were 
more people in the streets than he had ever 
before seen together. 

At last Magnus stopped before one of the 
handsomest dwellings, and helped his sister 
down from her pony. The door opened, and 
an old servant came forth. Jon and Gudrid, 
hand in hand, followed them into a room which 
seemed to them larger and handsomer than 
the church at Kyrkedal, with still other rooms 
opening out of it, with wonderful chairs, and 
pictures, and carpets upon which they were 
afraid to walk. This was their new home. 


VIII 

Even before their arrival, Jon discovered 
that his Uncle Magnus was a man who said 
little, but took good notice of what others 
did. The way to gain his favor, therefore, 
was to accept and discharge the duties of the 
new life as they should arise. Having adopted 
the resolution to do this, it was surprising 
how soon these duties became familiar and 
easy. He entered the school, where he was 
by no means the lowest or least promising 
scholar, assisted his mother and Gudrid wher- 
ever it was possible, and was so careful a mes- 
senger that Magnus by degrees intrusted him 
with matters of some importance. The house- 
hold, in a little while, became well-ordered 
and harmonious, and although it lacked the 
freedom and homelike feeling of the lonely 


hi 


1 12 Boys of Other Countries 

farm on the Thiorva, all were contented and 
happy. 

Jon had a great deal to learn, but his eager- 
ness helped him. His memory was naturally 
excellent, and he had been obliged to exercise 
it so constantly — having so few books, and 
those mostly his own written copies — that he 
was able to repeat, correctly, large portions 
of the native sagas , or poetical histories. He 
was so well advanced in Latin that the con- 
tinuance of the study became simply a delight ; 
he learned Danish, almost without an effort, 
from his uncle’s commercial partner and the 
Danish clerk in the warehouse; and he took 
up the study of English with a zeal that was 
heightened by his memories of Mr. Lome. 

We cannot follow him, step by step, during 
this period, although many things in his life 
might instmct and encourage other earnest, 
struggling boys. It is enough to say that he 
was always patient and cheerful, always grate- 
ful for his opportunity of education, and never 


Jon of Iceland 


113 


neglectful of his proper duties to his uncle, 
mother, and sister. Sometimes, it is true, he 
was called upon to give up hours of sport, 
days of recreation, desires which were right in 
themselves but could not be gratified, — and 
it might have gone harder with him to do so, 
if he had not constantly thought: “How would 
my father have acted in such a case?” And 
had he not promised to take the place of 
his father? 

So three years passed away. Jon was 
eighteen, and had his full stature. He was 
strong and healthy, and almost handsome; 
and he had seen so much of the many stran- 
gers who every summer come to Rejkiavik — 
French fishermen, Spanish and German sailors, 
English travellers and Danish traders — that 
all his old shyness had disappeared. He was 
able to look any man in the eyes, and ask or 
answer a question. 

It was the beginning of summer, and the 

school had just closed. Jon had been assist- 
8 


1 14 Boys of Other Countries 

ing the Danish clerk in the warehouse; but 
toward noon, when they had an idle hour, 
a sailor announced that there was a new ar- 
rival in the harbor; so he walked down the 
beach of sharp lava-sand to the wooden jetty 
where strangers landed. A little distance off 
shore a yacht was moored; the English flag 
was flying at the stern, and a boat was already 
pulling toward the landing-place. Jon rubbed 
his eyes, to be sure that he saw clearly; but 
no! the figure remained the same; and now, 
as the stranger leaped ashore, he could no 
longer contain himself. He rushed across 
the beach, threw his arms around the man, 
and cried out, “Lome! Lome!’’ 

The latter was too astonished to recognize 
him immediately. 

''Don’t you know me?” Jon asked; and 
then, half laughing, half crying, said in Latin, 
"To-day is better than yesterday.” 

"Why, can this be my little guide?” 
exclaimed Mr. Lome. "But to be sure it is! 


Jon of Iceland 


ii5 

There are no such wise eyes in so young a 
head anywhere else in the world/ ’ 

Before night the traveller was installed in 
the guest-room in Uncle Magnus’s house; and 
then they truly found that he had not forgot- 
ten them. After supper he opened a box, 
and out there came a silver watch for Jon; a 
necklace, that could not be told from real 
pearls, for Gudrid; and what a shawl for the 
mother! Even Uncle Magnus was touched, 
for he brought up a very old, dusty bottle of 
Portugal wine, which he had never been 
known to do before, except one day when the 
Governor came to see him. 

“ And now,” said Mr. Lome, when he was a 
little tired of being thanked so much, “I want 
something in return. I am going, by way of 
the Broad Fiord, to the northern shore of Ice- 
land, and back through the desert; and I shall 
not feel safe unless Jon goes with me.” 

“Oh!” cried Jon. 

“Iam not afraid this time,” said Gudrid. 


n6 Boys of Other Countries 

Magnus looked at his sister, and then nod- 
ded. '‘Take the boy!” he said. ‘‘He can 
get back before school commences again ; and 
we are as ready to trust him with you as you 
are to trust yourself with him.” 

What a journey that was ! They had plenty 
of ponies, and a tent, and provisions in tin cans. 
Sometimes it rained or snowed, and they were 
wet and chilly enough at the end of the day, 
but then the sun shone again, and the black 
mountains became purple and violet and their 
snows and ice-fields sparkled in the blue of the 
air. They saw many a wild and desolate land- 
scape, but also many a soft green plain and hay- 
meadow along the inlets of the northern shore; 
and in the little town of Akureyri Jon at last 
found a tree — the only tree in Iceland! It is 
a mountain-ash, about twenty feet high, and 
the people are so proud of it that every au- 
tumn they wrap the trunk and boughs, and 
even the smallest twigs, in woollen cloth, lest 
the severity of the winter should kill it. 


Jon of Iceland 


ii 7 

They visited the Myvatn (Mosquito Lake) 
in the northeastern part of the island, saw the 
volcanoes which in 1875 occasioned such terri- 
ble devastation, and then crossed the great 
central desert to the valley of the Thiorva. 
So it happened that Jon saw Gudridsdale 
again, but under pleasanter aspects than be- 
fore, for it was a calm, sunny day when they 
reached the edge of the table-land and de- 
scended into the lovely green valley. It gave 
him a feeling of pain to find strangers in his 
father’s house, and perhaps Mr. Lome sus- 
pected this, for he did not stop at the farm, 
but pushed on to Kyrkedal, where the good 
old pastor entertained them both as welcome 
guests. At the end of six weeks they were 
back in Rejkiavik, hale and ruddy after their 
rough journey, and closer friends than ever. 

Each brought back his own gain — Mr. 
Lome was able to speak Icelandic tolerably 
well, and Jon was quite proficient in English. 
The former had made the trip to Iceland 


n8 Boys of Other Countries 

especially to collect old historical legends and 
acquire new information concerning them. T o 
his great surprise, he found Jon so familiar 
with the subject, that, during the journey, he 
conceived the idea of taking him to Scotland 
for a year, as an assistant in his studies; but 
he said nothing of this until after their return. 
Then, first, he proposed the plan to Magnus 
and Jon's mother, and prudently gave them 
time to consider it. It was hard for both to 
consent, but the advantages were too evident 
to be rejected. To Jon, when he heard it, it 
seemed simply impossible; yet the prepara- 
tions went on, — his mother and Gudrid wept 
as they helped, Uncle Magnus looked grave, — 
and at last the morning came when he had to 
say farewell. 

The yacht had favorable winds at first. 
They ran along the southern shore to Ingolfs 
Head, saw the high, inaccessible summits of 
the Skaptar Jokull fade behind them, and 
then Iceland dropped below the sea. A misty 


Jon of Iceland 


1 19 

gale began to blow from the southwest, forc- 
ing them to pass the Faroe Islands on the 
east, and afterward the Shetland Isles; but, 
after nearly coming in sight of Norway, the 
wind changed to the opposite quarter, and the 
yacht spread her sails directly for Leith. One 
night, when Jon awoke in his berth, he missed 
the usual sound of waves against the vessel’s 
side and the cries of the sailors on deck — 
everything seemed strangely quiet; but he 
was too good a sleeper to puzzle his head 
about it, so merely turned over on his 
pillow. When he arose the quiet was still 
there. He dressed in haste and went on 
deck. The yacht lay at anchor in front of 
buildings larger than a hundred Rejkiaviks 
put together. 

“This is Leith,” said Mr. Lome, coming 
up to him. 

“Leith?” Jon exclaimed; “it seems like 
Rome or Jerusalem! Those must be the 
King’s palaces.” 


120 


Boys of Other Countries 

“No, my boy," Mr. Lome answered, “they 
are only warehouses/ ' 

“But what are those queer green hills 
behind the houses? They are so steep and 
round that I don't see how anybody could 
climb up." 

“Hills?" exclaimed Mr. Lome. “Oh, I 
see now ! Why, J on, those are trees. ’ ' 

Jon was silent. He dared not doubt his 
friend's word, but he could not yet wholly 
believe it. When they had landed, and he saw 
the great tmnks, the spreading boughs, and 
the millions of green leaves, such a feeling of 
awe and admiration came over him that he 
began to tremble. A wind was blowing, and 
the long, flexible boughs of the elms swayed 
up and down. 

“Oh, Mr. Lome!" he cried. “See! they 
are praying! Let us wait a while; they are 
saying something — I hear their voices. Is 
it English? — can you understand it? " 

Mr. Lome took him by the hand and said : 



The halt on the journey 









Jon of Iceland 


121 


“It is praise, not prayer. They speak the 
same language all over the world, but no one 
can understand all they say.’ 

There is one rough little cart in Rejkiavik, 
and this is the only vehicle in Iceland. What 
then, must have been Jon’s feelings when he 
saw hundreds of elegant carriages dashing to 
and fro, and great wagons drawn by giant 
horses? When they got into a cab, it seemed 
to him like sitting on a moving throne. He 
had read and heard of all these things, and 
thought he had a clear idea of what they 
were; but he was not prepared for the reality. 
He was so excited, as they drove up the 
street to Edinburgh, that Mr. Lome, sitting 
beside him, could feel the beating of his heart. 
The new wonders never ceased: there was 
an apple tree with fmit; rose bushes in 
bloom; whole beds of geraniums in the little 
gardens; windows filled with fmit or bril- 
liant silks or silver- ware; towers that seemed 
to touch the clouds, and endless multitudes of 


122 


Boys of Other Countries 

people! As they reached the hotel, all he 
could say, in a faltering voice, was, “Poor 
old Iceland !” 

The next day they took the train for Lan- 
ark, in the neighborhood of which Mr. Lome 
had an estate. When Jon saw the bare, 
heather-covered mountains, and the swift 
brooks that came leaping down their glens, he 
laughed and said : 

“Oh, you have a little of Iceland even 
here! If there were trees along the Thiorva, 
it would look like yonder valley.’ ’ 

“I have some moorland of my own,” Mr. 
Lome remarked; “and if you ever get to 
be homsesick, I ’ll send you out upon it to 
recover.” 

But when Jon reached the house, and was 
so cordially welcomed by Mrs. Lome, and 
saw the park and gardens where he hoped to 
become familiar with trees and flowers, he 
thought there would be as much likelihood of 
being homesick in heaven as in such a place. 


Jon of Iceland 


123 


Everything he saw tempted him to visit and 
examine it. During the first few days he 
could scarcely sit still in the library and take 
part in Mr. Lome’s studies. But his strong 
sense of duty, his long habits of patience and 
self-denial soon made the task easy, and even 
enabled him to take a few more hours daily 
for his own improvement. His delight in all 
strange and beautiful natural objects was 
greatly prolonged by this course. He enjoyed 
everything far more than if he had rapidly 
exhausted its novelty. Mr. Lome saw this 
quality of Jon’s nature with great satisfaction, 
and was very ready to give advice and infor- 
mation which he knew would be earnestly 
heeded. 

It was a very happy year; but I do not 
believe that it was the happiest of Jon’s life. 
Having learned to overcome the restlessness 
and impatience which are natural to boyhood, 
he laid the basis for greater content in life as 
a man. When he returned to Rejkiavik, in 


124 Boys of Other Countries 

his twentieth year, with a hundred pounds 
in his pocket and a rich store of knowledge 
in his head, all other tasks seemed easy. It 
was a great triumph for his mother, and espec- 
ially for Gudrid, now a bright, blooming 
maiden of sixteen. Uncle Magnus brought 
up another dusty bottle to welcome him, 
although there were only six more left; and 
all the neighbors came around in the evening. 
Even the Governor stopped and shook hands, 
the next day, when Jon met him in the street. 
His mother, who was with him, said, after the 
Governor had passed: “I hope thy father sees 
thee now.” The same thought was in Jon’s 
heart. 

And now, as he is no longer a boy, we must 
say good-bye to him. We have no fears for 
his future life; he will always be brave and 
manly and truthful. But, if some of my read- 
ers are still curious to know more of him, I 
may add that he is a very successful teacher 
in the school at Rejkiavik; that he hopes to 


Jon of Iceland 


1 25 


visit Mr. Lome, in Scotland, very soon; and 
I should not be in the least surprised if he 
were to join good old Dr. Hjaltalin, and pay 
a visit to the United States. 


f 







The Two Herd-Boys 






































































. 
























































. 





















. 












1 




• 











































IV 


The Two Herd-Boys 

I was in Germany, several 
rs ago, I spent a few weeks of 
summer-time in a small town 
among the Thuringian Mountains. This is a 
range on the borders of Saxony, something like 
our Green Mountains in height and form, but 
much darker in color, on account of the thick 
forests of fir which cover them. I had visited 
this region several times before, and knew 
not only the roads but most of the footpaths, 
and had made some acquaintance with the 
people; so I felt quite at home among them, 
and was fond of taking long walks up to the 
ruins of castles on the peaks, or down into the 
wild, rocky dells between them. 

The people are mostly poor, and very labori- 

9 129 



130 Boys of Other Countries 

ous ; yet all their labor barely produces enough 
to keep them from want. There i$ not much 
farming land, as you may suppose. The men 
cut wood, the women spin flax and bleach 
linen, and the children gather berries, tend 
cattle on the high mountain pastures, or act 
as guides to the summer travellers. A great 
many find employment in the manufacture of 
toys, of which there are several establishments 
in this region, producing annually many thou- 
sands of crying and speaking dolls, bleating 
lambs, barking dogs, and roaring lions. 

Behind the town where I lived, there was a 
spur of the mountains, crowned by the walls 
of a castle built by one of the dukes who 
ruled over that part of Saxony eight or nine 
hundred years ago. Beyond this ruin, the 
mountain rose more gradually, until it reached 
the highest ridge, about three miles distant. 
In many places the forest had been cut away, 
leaving open tracts where the sweet mountain 
grass grew thick and strong, and where there 


The Two Herd-Boys 131 

were always masses of heather, harebells, fox- 
gloves, and wild pinks. Every morning all 
the cattle of the town were driven up to these 
pastures, each animal with a bell hanging to 
its neck, and the sound of so many hundred 
bells tinkling all at once made a chime which 
could be heard at a long distance. 

One of my favorite walks was to mount to 
the ruined castle, and pass beyond it to the 
flowery pasture-slopes, from which I had a 
wide view of the level country to the north 
and the mountain-ridges on both sides. Here 
it was very pleasant to sit on a rock, in 
the sunny afternoon, and listen to the con- 
tinual sound of bells which filled the air. 
Sometimes one of the herd-boys would sing, 
or shout to the others across the intervening 
glens, while the village girls, with baskets of 
bark, hunted for berries along the edges of the 
forests. Although so high on the mountain, 
the landscape was never lonely. 

One day, during my ramble, I came upon 


132 Boys of Other Countries 

two smaller herds of cattle, each tended by a 
single boy. They were near each other, but 
not on the same pasture, for there was a deep 
hollow, or dell, between. Nevertheless they 
could plainly see each other, and even talk 
whenever they liked, by shouting a little. As 
I came out of a thicket upon the clearing, on 
one side of the hollow, the herd-boy tending 
the cattle nearest to me was sitting among 
the grass, and singing with all his might the 
German song commencing, 

Tra, ri, ro! 

The summer’s here I know !” 

His back was towards me, but I noticed that 
his elbows were moving very rapidly. Curious 
to learn what he was doing, I slipped quietly 
around some bushes to a point where I could 
see him distinctly, and found that he was 
knitting a woollen stocking. Presently he 
lifted his head, looked across to the opposite 
pasture and cried out, “ Hans! the cows! ” 


133 


The Two Herd-Boys 

I looked also, and saw another boy of about 
the same age start up and run after his cattle, 
the last one of which was entering the forests. 
Then the boy near me gave a glance at his own 
cattle, which were quietly grazing on the slope, 
a little below him, and went on with his knit- 
ting. As I approached, he heard my steps 
and turned towards me, a little startled at 
first; but he was probably accustomed to 
seeing strangers, for I soon prevailed upon 
him to tell me his name and age. He was 
called Otto, and was twelve years old; his 
father was a wood-cutter, and his mother spun 
and bleached linen. 

“And how much,” I asked him, “do you 
get for taking care of the cattle?” 

“ I am to have five thalers ” (about four dol- 
lars) , he answered, ‘ 1 for the whole summer ; but 
it does n’t go to me — it’s for father. But then 
I make a good many groschen by knitting, 
and that's for my winter clothes. Last year I 
could buy a coat, and this year I want to get 


134 Boys of Other Countries 

enough for trousers and new shoes. Since 
the cattle know me so well, I have only to 
talk and they mind me; and that, you see, 
gives me plenty of time to knit.” 

“I see,” I said; “it ’s a very good arrange- 
ment. I suppose the cattle over on the other 
pasture don’t know their boy? He has not 
got them all out of the woods yet.” 

“Yes, they know him,” said Otto, “and 
that ’s the reason they slip away. But the 
cattle mind some persons better than others; 
I ’ve seen that much.” 

Here he stopped talking, and commenced 
knitting again. I watched him awhile, as he 
rapidly and evenly rattled off the stitches. He 
evidently wanted to make the most of his time. 
Then I again looked across the hollow, where 
Hans — the other boy — had at last collected 
his cows. He stood on the top of a rock, fling- 
ing stones down the steep slope. When he had 
no more, he stuck his hands in his pockets and 
whistled loudly, to draw Otto’s attention; but 



“ ‘ And how much do you get for taking care of the cattle ? ’ ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 



135 


The Two Herd-Boys 

the latter pretended not to hear. Then I left 
them; for the shadow of the mountain behind 
me was beginning to creep up the other side 
of the valley. 

A few days afterwards I went up to the pas- 
ture again, and came, by chance, to the head of 
the little dell dividing the two herds. I had 
been wandering in the fir-forest, and reached 
the place unexpectedly. There was a pleas- 
ant view from the spot, and I seated myself in 
the shade, to rest and enjoy it. The first 
object which attracted my attention was Otto, 
knitting as usual, beside his herd of cows. 
Then I turned to the other side to discover 
what Hans was doing. His cattle, this time, 
were not straying; but neither did he appear 
to be minding them in the least. He was 
walking backwards and forwards on the 
mountainside, with his eyes fixed upon the 
ground. Sometimes, where the top of a rock 
projected from the soil, he would lean over it, 
and look along it from one end to the other, 


136 Boys of Other Countries 


as if he were trying to measure its size ; then he 
would walk on, pull a blue flower, and then a 
yellow one, look at them sharply, and throw 
them away. “What is he after?” I said to 
myself. “ Has he lost something, and is he 
trying to find it? or are his thoughts so busy 
with something else that he does n’t really 
know what he is about?” 

I watched him for nearly half an hour, at 
the end of which time he seemed to get tired, 
for he gave up looking about and sat down in 
the grass. The cattle were no doubt ac- 
quainted with his ways — (It is astonishing 
how much intelligence they have!) — and they 
immediately began to move towards the forest, 
and would soon have wandered away, if I had 
not headed them off and driven them back. 
Then I followed them, much to the surprise of 
Hans, who had been aroused by the noise of 
their bells as they ran from me. 

“You don’t keep a very good watch, my 
boy!” I said. 


The Two Herd-Boys 


i37 


As he made no answer, I asked, “Have you 
lost anything? ” 

“No,” he then said. 

“ What have you been hunting so long? ” 

He looked confused, turned away his head, 
and muttered, “Nothing.” 

This made me sure he had been hunting 
something, and I felt a little curiosity to know 
what it was. But although I asked him again, 
and offered to help him hunt it, he would tell 
me nothing. He had a restless and rather 
unhappy look, quite different from the bright, 
cheerful eyes and pleasant countenance of 
Otto. 

His father, he said, worked in a mill below 
the town, and got good wages; so he was 
allowed half the pay for tending the cattle 
during the summer. 

“What will you do with the money?” I 
asked. 

“Oh, I ’ll soon spend it,” he said. “ I could 
spend a hundred times that much, if I had it.” 




138 Boys of Other Countries 


“Indeed ! ” I exclaimed. “ No doubt it ’s all 
the better that you have n’t it.” 

He did not seem to like this remark, and 
was afterwards disinclined to talk; so I left 
him and went over to Otto, who was as busy 
and cheerful as ever. 

“Otto,” said I, “do you know what Hans 
is hunting all over the pasture? Has he lost 
anything?” 

“No,” Otto answered; “he has not lost 
anything, and I don’t believe he will find any- 
thing, either. Because, even if it is all true, 
they say you never come across it when you 
look for it, but it just shows itself all at once, 
when you ’re not expecting.” 

“What is it, then? ” I asked. 

Otto looked at me a moment, and seemed 
to hesitate. He appeared also to be a little 
surprised; but probably he reflected that I 
was a stranger, and could not be expected to 
know everything, for he finally asked, “Don’t 
you know, sir, what the shepherd found, some- 


The Two Herd-Boys 139 

where about here, a great many hundred years 
ago?” 

“No,” I answered. 

“Not the key-flower? ” 

Then I did know what he meant, and under- 
stood the whole matter in a moment. But 
I wanted to know what Otto had heard of the 
story, and therefore said to him, “I wish you 
would tell me.” 

“Well,” he began, “some say it was true, 
and some that it was n’t. At any rate, it was 
a long, long while ago, and there ’s no tell- 
ing how much to believe. My grandmother 
told me; but then she did n’t know the man ; 
she only heard about him from her grand- 
mother. He was a shepherd, and used to 
tend his sheep on the mountain, — or maybe 
it was cows, I ’m not sure, — in some place 
where there were a great many kobolds and 
fairies. And so it went on from year to year. 
He was a poor man, but very cheerful, and 
always singing and making merry; but some- 


140 Boys of Other Countries 

times he would wish to have a little more 
money, so that he need not be obliged to go 
up to the pastures in the cold foggy weather. 
That was n’t much wonder, sir, for it ’s cold 
enough up here, some days. 

“It was in summer, and the flowers were 
all in blossom, and he was walking along after 
his sheep, when all at once he saw a wonderful 
sky-blue flower of a kind he had never seen 
before in all his life. Some people say it 
was sky-blue, and some that it was golden- 
yellow; I don’t know which is right. Well, 
however it was, there was the wonderful 
flower, as large as your hand, growing in the 
grass. The shepherd stooped down and broke 
the stem ; but just as he was lifting up the 
flower to examine it, he saw that there was a 
door in the side of the mountain. Now he had 
been over the ground a hundred times before, 
and had never seen anything of the kind. Yet 
it was a real door, and it was open, and there 
was a passage into the earth. He looked into 


The Two Herd-Boys 141 

it for a long time, and at last plucked up heart 
and in he went. After forty or fifty steps, he 
found himself in a large hall, full of chests of 
gold and diamonds. There was an old ko- 
bold, with a white beard, sitting in a chair 
beside a large table in the middle of the hall. 
The shepherd was at first frightened, but the 
kobold looked at him with a friendly face, and 
said, ‘Take what you want, and don't forget 
the best!' 

“So the shepherd laid the flower on the 
table, and went to work and filled his pockets 
with the gold and diamonds. When he had 
as much as he could carry, the kobold said 
again, ‘ Don’t forget the best ! ’ ‘ That I won’t, 

the shepherd thought to himself, and took 
more gold and the biggest diamonds he could 
find, and filled his hat, so that he could 
scarcely stagger under the load. He was 
leaving the hall, when the kobold cried out, 
‘Don’t forget the best!’ But he couldn’t 
carry any more, and went on, never minding. 


142 Boys of Other Countries 

When he reached the door in the mountain- 
side, he heard the voice again, for the last time, 
‘Don’t forget the best!’ 

“The next minute he was out on the pas- 
ture. When he looked around, the door had 
disappeared: his pockets and hat grew light 
all at once, and instead of gold and diamonds 
he found nothing but dry leaves and pebbles. 
He was as poor as ever, and all because he 
had forgotten the best. Now, sir, do you 
know what the best was? Why, it was the 
flower, which he had left on the table in the 
kobold’s hall. That was the key-flower. 
When you find it and pull it, the door is 
opened to all the treasures under ground. If 
the shepherd had kept it, the gold and dia- 
monds would have stayed so; and, besides, 
the door would have been always opened to 
him, and he could then help himself whenever 
he wanted.” 

Otto had told the story very correctly, just 
as I had heard it told by some of the people 


143 


The Two Herd-Boys 

before. 11 Did you ever look for the key- 
flower?" I asked him. 

He grew a little red in the face, then 
laughed, and answered: “Oh, that was the 
first summer I tended the cattle, and I soon 
got tired of it. But I guess the flower does n't 
grow any more, now." 

“How long has Hans been looking for 
it?" 

“He looks every day," said Otto, “when he 
gets tired doing nothing. But I should n’t 
wonder if he was thinking about it all the 
time, or he ’d look after his cattle better than 
he does." 

As I walked down the mountain that after- 
noon I thought a great deal about these two 
herd-boys and the story of the key-flower. 
Up to this time the story had only seemed to 
me to be a curious and beautiful fairy-tale; 
but now I began to think it might mean 
something more. Here was Hans, neglecting 
his cows, and making himself restless and 


144 Boys of Other Countries 


unhappy, in the hope of some day finding the 
key-flower; while Otto, who remembered that 
it can't be found by hunting for it, was atten- 
tive to his task, always earning a little, and 
always contented. 

Therefore, the next time I walked up to the 
pastures, I went straight to Hans. “Have 
you found the key-flower yet? ” I asked. 

There was a curious expression upon his 
face. He appeared to be partly ashamed of 
what he must now and then have suspected 
to be a folly, and partly anxious to know if I 
could tell him where the flower grew. 

“See here, Hans," said I, seating myself 
upon a rock. “Don’t you know that those 
who hunt for it never find it. Of course you 
have not found it, and you never will, in this 
way. But even if you should, you are so 
anxious for the gold and diamonds that you 
would be sure to forget the best, just as the 
shepherd did, and would find nothing but 
leaves and pebbles in your pockets.” 


145 


The Two Herd-Boys 

“Oh, no!” he exclaimed; “that ’s just what 
I would n’t do.” 

“Why, don’t you forget your work every- 
day?” I asked. “You are forgetting the best 
all the time, — I mean the best that you have 
at present. Now, I believe there is a key- 
flower growing on these very mountains; and, 
what is more, Otto has found it ! ” 

He looked at me in astonishment. 

“Don’t you see,” I continued, “how happy 
and contented he is all the day long? He 
does not work as hard at his knitting as you 
do in hunting for the flower; and although 
you get half your summer’s wages, and he 
nothing, he will be richer than you in the fall. 
He will have a small piece of gold, and it 
won’t change into a leaf. Besides, when a 
boy is contented and happy he has gold and 
diamonds. Would you rather be rich and 
miserable, or poor and happy? ” 

This was a subject upon which Hans had 
evidently not reflected. He looked puzzled. 


10 


146 Boys of Other Countries 

He was so accustomed to think that money 
embraced everything else that was desirable, 
that he could not imagine it possible for a 
rich man to be miserable. But I told him of 
some rich men whom I knew, and of others 
of whom I had heard, and at last bade him 
think of the prosperous brewer in the town 
below, who had so much trouble in his family, 
and who walked the streets with his head 
hanging down. 

I saw that Hans was not a bad boy; he 
was simply restless, impatient, and perhaps 
a little inclined to envy those in better 
circumstances. This lonely life on the moun- 
tains was not good for a boy of his na- 
ture, and I knew it would be difficult 
for him to change his habits of thinking 
and wishing. But, after a long talk, he 
promised me he would try, and that was as 
much as I expected. 

Now, you may want to know whether he 
did try ; and I am sorry that I cannot tell 


The Two Herd-Boys 


147 


you. I left the place soon afterwards, and 
have never been there since. Let us all 
hope, however, that he found the real key- 
flower. 




















The Young Serf 


149 



V 


The Young Serf 

i 

was towards the close of a Sep- 
tember day. Old Gregor and his 
grandson Sasha were returning 
home through the forest with their bundles of 
wood, the old man stooping low under the 
weight of the heavier sticks he carried, while 
the boy dragged his great bunch of twigs and 
splints by a rope drawn over his shoulder. 
Where the trees grew thick, the air was al- 
ready quite gloomy, but in the open spaces 
they could see the sky and tell how near it 
was to sunset. 

Both were silent, for they were tired, and it 

is not easy to talk and carry a heavy load at 
151 



152 Boys of Other Countries 

the same time. But presently something gray 
appeared through the trees, at the foot of a 
low hill; it was the rock where they always 
rested on the way home. Old Gregor laid 
down his bundle there, and wiped his face on 
the sleeve of his brown jacket, but Sasha 
sprang upon the rock and began to balance 
himself upon one foot, as was his habit when- 
ever he tried to think about anything. 

"Grandfather,’' he said, at last, "why 
should all the forest belong to the Baron, and 
none of it to you?” 

Gregor looked at him sharply for a moment 
before he answered. 

"It was his father’s and his grandfather’s; 
it has been the property of the family for 
many a hundred years, and we have never 
had any.” 

"I know that,” said Sasha. "But why did 
it come so first ?” 

Gregor shook his head. "You might as 
well ask how the world was made.” Then, 


The Young Serf 


153 


seeing that the boy looked troubled, he added 
in a kinder tone, “What put such a thought 
in your head?” 

“Why, the forest itself!” Sasha cried. 
“The Baron lets us have the top branches and 
little twigs, but he always takes the logs and 
sells them for money. I know all the trees, 
and he does n’t ; I can find my way in the 
woods anywhere, and there ’s many a tree 
that would say to me, if it could talk, T ’d 
rather belong to you, Sasha, because I know 
you.’” 

“Aye, and the moon would say the same 
to you, boy, and the sun and stars, maybe. 
You might as well want to own them, — and 
you don’t even belong to yourself. ” 

Gregor’s words seemed harsh and fierce, 
but his voice was very sad. Sasha looked at 
him and knew not what to say, but he felt 
that his heart was beating violently. All at 
once he heard a rustling among the dead 
leaves, and a sound like steps approaching. 


154 Boys of Other Countries 

The old man took hold of his grandson’s arm 
and made a sign to him to be silent. The 
sound came nearer, and nearer, and presently 
they could distinguish some dusky object 
moving towards them through the trees. 

"Is it a robber? ” whispered Sasha. 

"It is not a man unless he uses his knees 
for hind-feet. I see his head; it is a bear. 
Keep quiet, boy! make no noise; take this 
tough stick, but hold it at your side, as I do 
with mine. Look him in the face, if he comes 
close; and if I tell you to strike, hit him on 
the end of the nose! ” 

It was, indeed a full-grown bear, marching 
slowly on his great flat feet. He was not 
more than thirty yards distant, when he saw 
them, and stopped. Both kept their eyes 
fixed upon his head, but did not move. Then 
he came a few paces nearer, and Sasha tried 
hard not to show that he was trembling 
inwardly, more from excitement than fear. 
The bear gazed steadily at them for what 


The Young Serf 


155 


seemed a long time: there was an expression of 
anger, but also of stupid bewilderment, in his 
eyes. Finally he gave a sniff and a grunt, 
tossed up his nose, and slowly walked on, 
stopping once or twice to turn and look back, 
before he disappeared from view. Sasha lifted 
his stick and shook it towards him; he felt 
that he should never again be much afraid of 
bears. 

“Now, boy,” said Gregor, “you have 
learned how to face danger. I have been as 
near to a loaded cannon as to that bear, and 
the wind of the ball threw me on my face ; but 
I was up the next minute, and then the gunner 
went down! Our colonel saw it, and I 
remember what he said — ay, every word ! He 
would have kept his promise, but we carried 
him from the field the next day, and that was 
the end of the matter. It was in France.” 

“Grandfather,” Sasha suddenly asked, “are 
there forests in France? — and do they belong 
to the barons?” 


156 Boys of Other Countries 

“Pick up your fagot, boy, and come along! 
It will be dark before we get to the vil- 
lage and the potatoes are cooked by this 
time.” 

The mention of the potatoes revived all 
Sasha’s forgotten hunger, and he obeyed in 
silence. After walking for a mile as rapidly 
as their loads would permit, they issued from 
the forest, and saw the wooden houses of the 
village on a green knoll, in the last gleams of 
sunset. The church, with its three little cop- 
per-covered domes, stood on the highest point ; 
next to it the priest’s house and garden; then 
began the broad street, lined with square log- 
cabins and adjoining stables, sloping down to 
a large pond, at the foot of which was a mill. 
Beyond the water there was a great stretch 
of grazing meadow, then long, rolling fields of 
rye and barley, extending to the woods which 
bounded the view in every direction. The 
village was situated within a few miles of the 
great main highway running from Warsaw to 


The Young Serf 


157 


Moscow, and the waters of the pond fed the 
stream which flowed into one of the branches 
of the river Dnieper. 

The whole region including the village and 
nearly all the people in it, belonged to the 
estate of Baron Popoff, the roofs of whose 
residence were just visible to the southward, 
on a hill overlooking the road to Moscow. 
The former castle had been entirely destroyed 
during the retreat of Napoleon’s army, and the 
Baron’s grandfather suffered so many losses 
at the time that he was only able to build a 
large and very plain modem house; but the 
people always called it “the Castle,” or “the 
Palace,” just as before. Although the Baron 
sold every year great quantities of timber, 
grain, hemp, and wool from his estates, he 
always seemed to be in want of money. The 
servants who went with him every winter to 
St. Petersburg were very discreet, and said 
little about their master’s habits of life; but 
the people understood, somehow, that he often 


158 Boys of Other Countries 

lost large sums by gambling. This gave them 
a good deal of uneasiness, for if he should be 
obliged to part with the estate, they would all 
be transferred with it to a new owner — and 
this might be one who had other estates in 
other parts of Russia, to which he could send 
them if he were so minded. 

At the time of which I am writing, twenty- 
two millions of the Russian people were serfs. 
Their labor, even their property, belonged to 
the owner of the land upon which they lived. 
The latter had not the power to sell them to 
another, as was formerly the case with slaves 
in the South, but he could remove them from 
one estate to another if he had several. Baron 
Popoff was a haughty and indifferent master, 
but not a cruel one; the people of the village 
had belonged to his family for several genera- 
tions, and were accustomed to their condition. 
At least, they saw no way of changing it, 
except by a change of masters, which was more 
likely to be a misfortune than a benefit. 


The Young Serf 


159 


It was nearly dark when old Gregor and 
Sasha threw down their loads, and entered 
the house. Their supper was already wait- 
ing, for Sasha’s sister, little Minka, had been 
up to the church door to see whether they 
were coming. In one corner of the room a 
tiny lamp was burning before a picture of the 
Virgin Mary and Child Jesus, all covered with 
gilded brass except the hands and faces, which 
were nearly black, partly from the smoke, and 
partly because the common Russian people 
imagine that the Hebrews were a very dark- 
skinned race. Sasha’s father, Ivan, had also 
lighted a long pine-splint, and the room looked 
very cheerful. The boiled potatoes were 
smoking in a great wooden bowl, beside which 
stood a dish of salt, another of melted fat, 
and a loaf of black bread. They had neither 
plates, knives nor forks; only some coarse 
wooden spoons, and all ate out of the bowl, 
after the salt had been sprinkled and the fat 
poured over the potatoes. For drink there 


160 Boys of Other Countries 

was an earthen pitcher of quass , a kind of thin 
and rather sour beer. 

Old Gregor sat on one side of the table, 
and his son Ivan with Anna, his wife, opposite. 
There were five children, the oldest being 
Alexander (whom we know by his nickname 
“ Sasha,” which is the Russian for ‘ ‘ Aleck 
or “Sandy”), then Minka, Peter, Waska, and 
Sergius. Sasha was about thirteen years old, 
rather small for his age, and hardly to be 
called a handsome boy. Only there was 
something very pleasant in his large gray eyes, 
and his long, thick, flaxen hair shone almost 
like silver when the sun fell upon it. However, 
he never thought about his looks. When he 
went to the village bath-house, on a Saturday 
evening, to take his steam-bath with the rest, 
the men would sometimes say, after examining 
his joints and muscles, “You are going to be 
strong, Sasha!” — and that was as much as he 
cared to know about himself. 

The boy was burning with desire to tell the 


The Young Serf 


161 


adventure with the bear, but he did not like to 
speak before his grandfather, and there was 
something in the latter’s eye which made him 
feel that he was watching him. Gregor first 
lighted his pipe, and then, in the coolest pos- 
sible manner — as if it were something that 
happened every day — related the story. 1 ‘Pity 
I had n’t your gun with me, Ivan,” he said 
at the close; “what with the meat, the fat 
and the skin, we should have had thirty 
roubles.” 

The children were quite noisy with excite- 
ment. Little Peter said: “ What for did you 
let him go, Sasha? I ’ d have killed him and 
carried him home!” Then all laughed so 
heartily that Peter began to cry and was soon 
packed into a box in the corner, where he 
slept with Waska and Sergius. 

“ Take the gun with you to-morrow, father,” 
said Ivan. 

“It ’s too much, with my load of wood,” 
Gregor answered; “the old hunting-knife is 


1 62 Boys of Other Countries 

all I want. Sasha will stand by me with a 
club; he 'll not be afraid, the next time. ,, 

Sasha was about to exclaim: “I wasn’t 
afraid the first time!” but before he spoke, 
it flashed across his mind that he did tremble 
a little — just a very little. 

By this time it was dark outside. Two 
pine-splints had burned out, one after the 
other, and only the little lamp before the 
shrine enabled them dimly to see each other. 
The older people went to bed in their narrow 
rooms, which were hardly better than closets; 
and Sasha, spreading a coarse sack of straw 
on the floor, lay down, covered himself with 
his sheep-skin coat, and in five minutes was 
so sound asleep that he might have been 
dragged about by the heels without being 
awakened. 


II 


The next day, in the forest, old Gregor 
worked more rapidly than usual. He spoke 
very little, in spite of Sasha’s eagerness to 
talk, and kept the boy so busy that all the 
wood was gathered together and the bundles 
made up two or three hours before the usual 
time. 

They were in a partially cleared spot, near 
the top of some rising ground. The old man 
looked at the sky, nodded his head, and said 
with a satisfied air: “We have plenty of time 
left for ourselves, Sasha; come with me, and 
I ’ll show you something. ,, 

He set out in a direction opposite from 
home, and the boy, who expected nothing 
less than the finding of another bear, seized a 

tough, straight club, and followed him. They 
163 


1 64 Boys of Other Countries 

went for nearly a mile over rolling ground, 
through the forest, and then descended into 
a narrow glen, at the foot of which ran a 
rapid stream. Very soon, rocks began to 
appear on either side, and the glen became a 
chasm where there was barely room to walk. 
It was a cold, gloomy, strange place; Sasha 
had never seen anything like it. He felt a 
singular creeping of the flesh, but not for the 
world would he have turned back. 

The path ceased, and there was a waterfall 
in front, filling up the whole chasm. Gregor 
pulled off his boots and stepped into the 
stream, which reached nearly to his knees: 
he gave his hand to Sasha, who could hardly 
have walked alone against the force of the 
current. They reached the foot of the fall, 
the spray of which was whirled into their 
faces. Then Gregor turned suddenly to the 
left, passed through the thin edge of the fall- 
ing water, and Sasha, pulled after him, found 
himself in a low, arched vault of rock, into 



“ They reached the foot of the fall, the spray of which was whirled 
into their faces” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 





The Young Serf 165 

which the light shone down from another 
opening. They crawled upwards on hands 
and feet, and came out into a great, circular 
hole, like a kettle, through the middle of 
which ran the stream. There was no other 
way of getting into it, for the rocks leaned 
inward as they rose, making the bottom con- 
siderably broader than the top. 

On one side, under the middle of the rocky 
arch, stood a square black stone, about five 
feet high, with a circle of seven smaller stones 
resembling seats around it. Sasha was dumb 
with surprise at finding himself in such a 
wonderful spot. 

But old Gregor made the sign of the cross, 
and muttered something which seemed to be 
a prayer. Then he went to the black stone, 
and put his hand upon it. 

“ Sasha,” he said, “this is one of the places 
where the old Russian people came, many 
thousand years ago, before ever the name of 
Christ was heard of. They were dreadful 


1 66 Boys of Other Countries 

heathen in those days, and this was what they 
had in place of a church. A black stone had 
to be the altar, because they had a black god, 
who was never satisfied unless they fed him 
with human blood. 

“ Where is he now? ” Sasha asked. 

“They say he turned into an evil spirit, 
and is hiding somewhere in the wilderness; 
but I don’t know whether it ’s true. His name 
was Perun. Most men do not dare to say it, 
but I have the courage, because I ’ve been a 
soldier and have an honest conscience. Are 
you afraid to stand here?” 

“Not if you are not, grandfather,” said 
Sasha. 

“If your heart were bad and false, you 
might well be afraid. Come here to me.” 

Sasha obeyed. The old man opened the 
boy’s coarse shirt and laid his hand upon his 
heart ; then he made him do the same to him- 
self, so that the heart of each beat directly 
against the hand of the other. 


The Young Serf 


167 


‘'Now, boy,” he then said, “I am going to 
trust you, and if you say a word you do not 
mean, or think otherwise than you speak, I 
shall feel it in the motion of your heart. Do 
you know the difference between a serf and 
a free man? Would you rather live like your 
father, without anything he can call his own, 
or like the Baron, with houses and forests 
that nobody could take away from you — 1 
unless it might be the Emperor? ” 

Sasha’s heart gave a great thump, before he 
opened his mouth. The old man smiled, and 
he said to himself: “I was right.” Then he 
continued: “I should be a free man now, if 
our colonel had lived. Your father had not 
wit and courage enough to try, but you can do 
it, Sasha, if you think of nothing else and 
work for nothing else. I will help you all I 
can ; but you must begin at once. Will you? ” 
“Yes! yes!” cried Sasha, eagerly. 

“Promise me that you will say nothing to 
any living soul; that you will obey me and 


168 Boys of Other Countries 

remember all I say to you while I live, and be 
none the less faithful to the purpose when I 
am dead!” 

Sasha promised everything, at once. After 
a moment’s silence, Gregor took his hand 
from the boy’s breast, and said: “Yes, you 
truly mean it. The old people used to say 
that if anybody broke a promise made before 
this stone, the black heathen god would have 
power over him.” 

“ Perhaps the bear was the black god, 
Sasha suggested. 

“ Perhaps he was. Look him in the face, 
as you did yesterday, remember your promise, 
and he can’t harm you.” 

As they walked slowly back through the 
forest, Gregor began to talk, and the boy kept 
close beside him, listening eagerly to every 
word. 

“The first thing,” he said, “is to get know- 
ledge. You must learn, somehow, to read 
and write, and count figures. I must tell you 


169 


The Young Serf 

all I know, about everything in the world, but 
that ’s very little ; and it ’s so mixed up in my 
head, that I don't rightly know 1 where to begin. 
It ’s a blessing that I ’ve not forgotten much; 
what I picked up I held on to, and now I see 
the reason why. There ’s nothing you can’t 
use, if you wait long enough.” 

“Tell me about France!” Sasha cried. 

“France and Germany, too! I was two or 
three years, off and on, in those foreign parts, 
and I could talk smartly in the speech of 
both — Allez ! Sortez! Donnez-moi du vin!” 

Gregor stopped and straightened his bent 
back, his eyes flashed, and he laughed long 
and heartily. 

11 Allez! Sortez! Donnez-moi du vin /” repeated 
Sasha. 

Gregor caught up the boy in his arms, and 
kissed him. “The very thing!” he cried: 
“I ’ll teach you both tongues, — and all about 
the strange habits of the people, and their 
houses and churches, and which way the battle 


170 Boys of Other Countries 

went, and what queer harness they have on 
their horses, and a talking bird I once saw, 
and a man that kept a bottle full of lightning 
in his room 

So his tongue ran on. It was a great delight 
to him to recall his memories of more than 
thirty years and he was constantly surprised 
to find how many little things that seemed 
forgotten came back to his mind. Sasha’s 
breath came quick, as he listened; his whole 
body felt warm and nimble, and it suddenly 
seemed to him possible to learn anything and 
everything. Before reaching home, he had 
fixed twenty or thirty French words in his 
memory. There they were, hard and tight ; he 
knew he should never forget them. 

From that day began a new life for both. 
Old Gregor’s method of instruction would 
simply have confused a pupil less ignorant 
and less eager to be taught; but Sasha was 
so sure that knowledge would in some way 
help him to become a free man that he seized 


The Young Serf 


171 


upon everything he heard. In a few months 
he knew as much German and French as his 
grandfather, and when they were alone they 
always spoke, as much as possible, in one or 
the other language. But the boy’s greatest 
desire was to learn how to read. During the 
following winter he made himself useful to the 
priest in various ways, and finally succeeded 
in getting from him the letters of the alphabet 
and learning how to put them together. Of 
course, he could not keep secret all that he 
did; it was enough that no one guessed his 
object in doing it. 

One day, in the spring, just after the Baron 
had returned with his wife from St. Petersburg, 
Sasha was sent on an errand to the castle. He 
was bareheaded and barefooted; his shirt and 
wide trousers were very coarse, but clean, 
and his hair floated over his shoulders like a 
mass of shining silk. When he reached the 
castle, the Baron and Baroness, with a strange 
lady, were sitting on the balcony. The latter 


172 Boys of Other Countries 

said, in French, “ There's a nice-looking 
boy!” 

Sasha was so glad to find that he under- 
stood, and so delighted with the remark, that 
he looked up suddenly and blushed. 

“I really believe he understands what I 
said,” the lady exclaimed. 

The Baron laughed. “Do you suppose my 
young serfs are educated like princes?” he 
asked. “If he were so intelligent as that, 
how long could I keep him? ” 

Sasha bent down his head, and kicked the 
loose pebbles with his feet, to hide his excite- 
ment. The blood was humming in his ears; 
the Baron had said the same thing as his 
grandfather — to get knowledge was the only 
way to get freedom! 


Ill 

The summer passed away, and the second 
autumn came. Gregor had told all he knew; 
told it twice, three times; and Sasha, more 
eager than ever, began to grow impatient for 
something more. He had secured a little 
reading-book, such as is used for children, and 
studied it until he knew the exact place of 
every letter in it, but there was none to give 
the poor boy another volume, or to teach him 
anything further. 

One afternoon, as he was returning alone 
from a neighboring village by a country road 
which branched off from the main highway, 
he saw three men sitting on the bank, under 
the edge of a thicket. They were strangers, 
and they seemed to him to be foreigners. 

Two were of middle age, with harsh, evil 
173 


174 Boys of Other Countries 

faces; the third was young, and had an anx- 
ious, frightened look. They were talking 
earnestly, but before he could distinguish the 
words, one of them saw him, made a sign to 
the others, and then he was very sure that 
they suddenly changed their language; for it 
was German he now heard. 

He felt proud of his own knowledge, and 
his first thought was to say “ Good-day !” in 
German. Then he remembered his grand- 
father’s command, '‘Never show your know- 
ledge until there *s good reason for it!” and 
gave his greeting in Russian. The young 
man nodded in return; the others took no 
notice of him. But in passing he understood 
these sentences: 

"He will bring a great deal of money. , . . 
There ’s no danger — he will be alone. . . . 
Grain and hemp both sold to-day. ... It 
will be already dark.” 

Just beyond the thicket the road made a 
sharp turn and entered the woods. Sasha 


“ Sasha never afterwards could explain the impulse which led him to dart 
under the trees as soon as he was out of sight, to get in the rear of 
the thicket, crawl silently nearer on his hands and knees, and then 
lie down flat within hearing of the men’s voices ” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 


















i75 


The Young Serf 

never afterwards could explain the impulse 
which led him to dart under the trees as soon 
as he was out of sight, to get in the rear of 
the thicket, crawl silently nearer on his hands 
and knees, and then lie down flat within hear- 
ing of the men’s voices. For a moment, he 
was overcome with a horrible fear. They 
were silent, and his heart beat so loudly that 
he thought they could no more help noticing 
it than a blacksmith’s hammer. 

Presently one of them spoke, — this time in 
Russian. “ There ’s a hill from which you can 
see both roads,” he said; “but he’ll hardly 
take the highway.” 

“Are you sure his groom was not in the 
town?” asked another. 

“It ’s all as I say — rely upon that!” was the 
answer. “For all his title he ’s no more than 
another man, and we are three ! ” 

In talking further, they mentioned the name 
of the town ; it was the place only a few miles 
distant, where the grain, hemp, and other pro- 


176 Boys of Other Countries 

ducts of the estate were sold to traders — and 
this was the day of the sale! The plot of the 
robbers flashed into Sasha’s mind; and if he 
had had any remaining doubts they were soon 
dissipated by his hearing the Baron’s name. 
The latter was to be waylaid — plundered — 
killed, if he resisted. Then the oldest of the 
three men said, as he got up from the bank 
where they were sitting: 

“We must be on our way. Better be too 
early than too late.” 

“But it’s a terrible thing,” the youngest 
remarked. 

“You can’t turn back now ! ” the other cried. 

Sasha waited until he could no longer hear 
their footsteps. Then he started up, and 
keeping away from the road they had taken, 
ran through the woods and thicket in the 
direction of the town. His only thought was 
to reach the hill the robbers had mentioned, 
from which both roads could be seen. He 
knew it well; there was a bridle-path, shorter 


The Young Serf 


177 


than the main highway, and the Baron would 
probably take it, as he was on horseback. The 
hill divided the two roads ; it was covered with 
young birch trees, which grew very thickly on 
the summit and almost choked up the path. 
But there was a long spur of thicket, he 
remembered, running out on the ridge, and 
whoever stood at the end of it could almost 
look into the town. 

Sasha was so excited that he took a track 
almost as short as a bird flies. He tore 
through bushes and brambles without think- 
ing of the scratches they gave him; he jumped 
across gullies and ran at full speed over open 
fields; he was faint, and bruised, and breath- 
less, but he never paused until the farthest 
point of the thicket on the hill was reached. 
It was then about an hour before sunset, and 
only one or two foot-travellers were to be 
seen upon the highway. The town was half 
a mile off, but he could plainly see where 
the bridle-path issued from a little lane be- 


12 


178 Boys of Other Countries 

tween the houses. Carefully concealing him- 
self under a thick alder-bush, he kept his 
eyes fixed upon that point. 

He was obliged to wait for what seemed a 
long, long while. The sun was just setting 
when, finally, a horseman made his appearance, 
and Sasha knew by the large white horse that 
it must be the Baron. The rider looked at 
his watch, and then began to canter along the 
level towards the hill. There was no time to 
lose; so, without pausing a moment to think, 
Sasha sprang out of his hiding-place, and 
darted down the grassy slope at full speed, 
crying “Lord Baron! Lord Baron !” 

The rider, at first, did not seem to heed. 
He cantered on, and it required all Sasha's 
remaining strength to reach the path in 
advance of him. Then he dropped upon his 
knees, lifted up his hands, and cried once more, 
“Stop, Lord Baron!" 

The Baron reined up his horse just in time 
to avoid trampling on the boy. Sasha sprang 


179 


The Young Serf 

to his feet, seized the bridle, and gasped, 
"The robbers!” 

"Who are you? — and what does this 
mean? ” the Baron asked in a stem voice. 

But Sasha was too much in earnest to feel 
afraid of the great lord. "I am Sasha, the 
son of Ivan, the son of Gregor,” he said; and 
then related, as rapidly as he could, all that he 
had seen and heard. 

The Baron looked at his pistols. "Ha!’ 
he cried, "the caps are taken off! You may 
have done me good service, boy. Wait here; 
it ’s not enough to escape the rascals; we must 
capture them!” 

He turned his horse, and galloped back at 
full speed towards the town. Sasha watched 
him, thinking only that he was saved at last. 
It was growing dark, when the boy’s quick ear 
caught the sound of steps in the opposite 
direction. He turned and saw the three men 
approaching rapidly. With a deadly sense of 
terror he started and ran towards the town. 


i8o Boys of Other Countries 

“Kill the little spy!” shouted, behind him, 
a voice which he well knew. 

Sasha cried aloud for help as he ran; but 
no help came. He was already weak and 
exhausted from the exertion he had made, and 
he heard the robbers coming nearer and nearer. 
All at once it seemed to him that his cries 
were answered; but at the same moment a 
heavy blow came down upon his head and 
shoulder. He fell to the ground and knew no 
more. 


IV 

When Sasha came to his senses, it seemed 
to him that he must have been dead for a long 
time. First of all, he had to think who he was ; 
and this was not so easy as you may suppose, 
for he found himself lying in a bed, in a room 
he had never seen before. It was broad day- 
light, and the sun shone upon one of his 
hands, which was so white and thin that it did 
not seem to belong to him. Then he lifted 
it, and was amazed to find how little strength 
there was in his arm. But he brought it to his 
head at last, — and there was another surprise. 
All his long, silken hair was gone! He was 
so weak and bewildered that he groaned 
aloud, and the tears ran down his cheeks. 

There was a noise in the room, and presently 

old Gregor bent over the bed. 

181 


182 Boys of Other Countries 

“Grandad," said the boy — and how feeble 
his voice sounded! — “am I your Sasha still? " 

The old man, crying for joy, dropped on 
his knees and said a prayer. “Now you will 
get well!" he cried; 4 ‘but you mustn't talk; 
the doctor said you were not to talk!" 

“Where am I?" Sasha asked. 

“At the palace! And the Baron's own 
doctor comes every day to see you; and they 
let me stay here to nurse you — it will be a 
week to-morrow!" 

“What's the matter?" — “what has hap- 
pened?" 

“Don't talk, for the love of Heaven," said 
Gregor; “you saved the Baron from being 
robbed and killed ; and the head robber struck 
your head and broke your arm ; and the Baron 
and the people came just at the right time; 
and one of them was shot, and the other two 
are in jail. O my boy, remember the altar 
of the black god, Perun; be obedient to me; 
shut your eyes and keep quiet ! " 



“ The old man, crying for joy, dropped on his knees and said a prayer.” 

Drawing by F. S. Coburn 



The Young Serf 183 

But Sasha could not shut his eyes. Little 
by little his memory came back, and a sense 
of what he had done filled his mind and made 
him happy. He felt a dull ache in his left 
arm, and found that it was so tightly bandaged 
he could not move it; so he lay quite still, 
while Gregor sat and watched him with spark- 
ling eyes. After a time the door opened, and 
a strange gentleman came in ; it was the phy- 
sician. The old man rose and conversed with 
him in whispers. Then Sasha found that a 
spoon was held to his lips; he mechanically 
swallowed something that had a strange, 
pleasant taste, and almost immediately fell 
asleep. 

In a day or two he was strong enough to 
sit up in bed, and was allowed to talk. Then 
the Baron and Baroness came, with the lady 
who was their guest, to see him. They were 
all eager to learn the particulars of the occur- 
rence, especially how Sasha had discovered 
the plot of the robbers. He began at the 


1 84 Boys of Other Countries 


beginning, and had got as far as the latter’s 
change of language on seeing him, when he 
stopped in great confusion and looked at his 
grandfather. 

Gregor neither spoke nor moved, but his 
eyes seemed to say plainly, “Tell every- 
thing.” 

Sasha then related the whole story to the 
end. The Baroness came to the bedside, 
stooped down, kissed him, and said, “You 
have saved your lord!” 

But the other lady, who had been watch- 
ing him very curiously, suddenly exclaimed: 
“Why, it ’s the same nice-looking little serf I 
saw before; and when I spoke of him in 
French he blushed. I ’m sure he understood 
me! Don’t you understand me now, my 
boy?” 

She asked the question in French, and 
Sasha answered in the same language, “Yes, 
madam.” 

The lady clapped her hands in delight ; but 


The Young Serf 


185 

the Baron asked very sternly, “ Where did 
you learn so many languages? ” 

“From me!” Gregor answered. “The boy 
likes to know things, and I *ve always thought 
— saving your opinion, my good lord — that 
when God gives any one a strong wish for 
knowledge He means it to be answered. So 
I opened to him all there is in this foolish old 
head of mine, while we were together in the 
forest; and it was such a pleasure for him to 
take that it came to be a pleasure for me to 
give. You understand, my lady?” 

“Yes,” said the Baroness, “I understand 
that without Sasha’s knowledge of German, 
my husband would probably have been mur- 
dered.” 

“That ’s not so certain,” the Baron replied. 
“But some celebrated man has said ‘All’s 
well that ends well.’ The fellow did his duty 
like a full-grown man, and I ’ll take care of 
him.” 

Therewith they went out of the room, and 


1 86 Boys of Other Countries 

Sasha immediately asked, in some anxiety, 
“ Grandfather, you meant I should tell?” 

“Yes,” Gregor answered; “for the young- 
est robber has already confessed that they 
spoke in German, and thought themselves 
safe, while you were passing. They are vaga- 
bonds from the borders of Poland, and knew a 
little of three or four tongues. It is all right, 
my boy; the Baron is satisfied, and means to 
help you. Your chance has come sooner than 
I expected. I must have a little time to think 
about it; my head is like a stiff joint, hard to 
bend when I want to use it. It ’s good luck 
to me that you can’t get out of bed for a 
week to come!” 

He laughed as he left the bedside, and took 
his seat on the broad stone bench beside the 
stove. Sasha kept silent, for he knew that the 
old man’s brain was hard at work. He tried 
to do a little thinking himself, but it made him 
feel weak and giddy; in fact, the blow upon 
his head would have killed a more delicate boy. 


The Young Serf 187 

His strength came back so rapidly, how- 
ever, that in a week he was able to walk out, 
with his arm in a sling. He was still pale, 
and looked so strange in his short hair that 
on his first visit home his mother burst into 
tears on seeing him. Then Minka, Peter, 
Sergius, and Waska lifted up their voices and 
cried; and Ivan, who was at first angry with 
them, finally cried also, without knowing why 
he did it. All this made Sasha feel very 
uncomfortable, and he was on the point of 
saying “ I won’t do it again! ” when old Gregor 
made silence in the house. He had looked 
through the window and seen some of the 
neighbors coming ; so the whole family became 
cheerful again as rapidly as they could. 

By this time, Gregor had made up his mind. 
Sasha knew that he could not change it if he 
would, and he was therefore very glad to find 
how well his grandfather’s notions agreed with 
his own. While he was waiting for the Baron 
to speak again, he was not losing time; for 


1 88 Boys of Other Countries 

the strange lady who was visiting at the castle 
took quite a friendly interest in teaching him 
French and German, and giving him Russian 
books which were not too difficult to read. 
He was so eager to satisfy her, that he really 
made astonishing progress. 

When the robbers were tried before the 
judge, he was called upon to give testimony 
against them. One of the three having been 
killed, the youngest one was not afraid to con- 
fess, and his story and Sasha’s agreed per- 
fectly. The boy described the unwillingness 
of the former to undertake the crime; even 
the Baron said a word in his favor; and the 
judge, at last, sentenced him to be banished 
to Siberia for only ten years, while the older 
robber was sent there for life. 

That evening, the Baron asked Sasha, 
“ Would you like to be one of my house- 
servants, boy?” 

Just as his grandfather had advised him, 
Sasha answered: “It is not for me to choose 


The Young Serf 


189 

my lord; but I think I can serve you much 
more to your profit if you will let me try to 
become a merchant.” 

“A merchant!” the Baron exclaimed. 

“Not all at once,” said Sasha; “I could be 
of use now, as a boy to help carry and sell 
things, because I can count and speak a little 
in other tongues. I should make myself so 
useful to some merchant that he would give 
me a chance to learn the whole business in 
time. Then I should earn money, and could 
pay you for the privilege.” 

The Baron had often envied noblemen of his 
acquaintance, some of whose serfs were rich 
manufacturers or merchants, and paid them 
large annual sums for the privilege of living for 
themselves. Here seemed to be a chance for 
him to gain something in the same way. The 
boy spoke so confidently, and looked in his 
face with such straightforward eyes, that 
he felt obliged to consider the proposition 
seriously. 


190 Boys of Other Countries 


“How will you get to St. Petersburg ?” he 
asked. 

“When you go, my lord,” said Sasha, “I 
could sit on the box at the coachman’s feet. I 
will help him with the horses, and it shall cost 
you nothing. When I get there, I know I 
shall find a place.” 

The Baron then said, “You may go.” 


Here, as a boy not yet fifteen, Sasha begins 
his career as a man. The task he has under- 
taken demands the industry, the patience, and 
the devotion of his life, but he has been pre- 
pared for it by a sound, if a somewhat hard, 
experience. I hope the boys who read this 
feel satisfied already that he is going to suc- 
ceed; yet I know, also, that they like to be 
certain, and to have some little information as 
to how it came about. So I will let fifteen 
years pass, and we will now look upon Sasha, 
for the last time, as a man of thirty. 

He has a store and warehouse on the great 
main street of St. Petersburg, which is called 
the Nevsky Prospekt , — that is the Perspective 
of the Neva, because when you look down it 
you see the blue waters of the Neva at the 


192 Boys of Other Countries 

end. Over the door there is a large sign, 
with the name, “Alexander Ivanovitch.” 
(. Ivanovitch means “the son of Ivan”; Rus- 
sian family names are formed in this manner, 
and therefore the son has a different name 
from the father, unless their baptismal names 
are the same.) He employs a number of 
clerks and salesmen, and has a servant who 
would go through fire and water to help him. 
I must relate how he found this man, and why 
the latter is so faithful. 

On one of his journeys of business, five years 
before, Sasha visited the town of Perm, on 
the western side of the Ural Mountains. It 
is on the main highway to Siberia, and crimi- 
nals are continually passing, either on the way 
thither in chains, or returning in rags when 
their time of banishment has expired. One 
evening Sasha found by the roadside, in the 
outskirts of the town, a miserable-looking 
wretch who seemed to be at the point of 
death. He felt the man's pulse, lifted up his 


The Young Serf 


193 


head, and looked in his face, and was startled 
at recognizing the younger of the three rob- 
bers. He had him taken to the inn, tended 
and restored, and, after being convinced of his 
earnest desire to lead a better life, gave him 
employment. The robber was not naturally a 
bad man, but very ignorant and superstitious. 
It seemed to him both a miracle and a warning 
that he should have been saved by Sasha, and 
he fully believed that his soul would be lost if 
he should ever act dishonestly towards him. 

Keeping his heart steadily upon the great 
purpose of his life, Sasha rose from one step 
to another until he became an independent 
and wealthy merchant, — far wealthier, indeed, 
than the Baron supposed. He paid the latter 
a handsome annual sum for his time, and sent 
only small presents of money to his parents, for 
he knew how few and simple their needs were. 
He felt a thousand times more keenly than 
old Gregor what it was to be a serf. The old 
man was still living, but very feeble and help- 


13 


194 Boys of Other Countries 

less, and Sasha often grew wild at the thought 
that he might die before knowing freedom. 

His plan of action had long been fixed, and 
now the hour had come when he determined 
to try it. He had for years kept a strict watch 
over the Baron’s life in St. Petersburg, knew 
the amount of his increasing debts and the 
embarrassment they occasioned him, and 
could very nearly calculate the moment when 
ruin would come. He was not disappointed 
therefore, at receiving an urgent summons 
from his master. 

“ Sasha,” said the latter, laying his hand 
upon the serf’s shoulder with a familiarity he 
had never displayed before, “you are an hon- 
est, faithful fellow. I need a few thousand 
roubles for a month or two; can you get the 
money for me?” 

“I have heard, my lord,” Sasha answered, 
“that you are in difficulty. I knew why you 
sent for me; and I come to offer you a way 
out of all your troubles. Your debts amount 


195 


The Young Serf 

to more than a hundred thousand roubles; 
would you like to be relieved of them? ” 

“Would I not! — but how?” the Baron 
cried. 

“I will pay them, my lord; but you will do 
one thing for me in return.” 

“You?— You?” 

“I,” Sasha quietly answered; “I will free 
you, and you will free me.” 

“Ha!” the Baron cried, springing to his 
feet. His pride was touched. He was fond 
of boasting that he also had a serf who was 
a rich merchant, and the fact had many a time 
helped his credit when he wanted to borrow 
money. Unconsciously, he shook his head. 

“You have not the money,” he said. 

Sasha, who understood what was passing 
through the Baron’s mind, suffered so much 
from his cruel uncertainty that he turned 
deadly pale. 

“I am well known,” he answered, “and can 
procure the money in an hour. How much is 


196 Boys of Other Countries 

my serfdom worth to you? My annual pay- 
ment is hardly one tenth of the usurious inter- 
est which your debt wrings from you. I offer 
to release you from all trouble and thus add 
not less than eight thousand roubles a year to 
your income. And my freedom, which you 
can now sell back to me at such a price, may 
be mine without buying in a few years more. ” 

The Emperor, Alexander II., had at that 
time just succeeded to the throne, and his 
intention to emancipate the serfs was already 
suspected by the people. Sasha knew that he 
was running a great risk in what he said ; but 
his clasped hands, his trembling voice, his eyes 
filled with tears, affected the Baron more pow- 
erfully than his words. 

There was a long silence. The master 
turned away to the window, and weighed the 
offer rapidly in his mind; the serf waited, in 
breathless anxiety, in the centre of the room. 

Suddenly the Baron turned and struck his 
clenched fist on the table. Then he stretched 


The Young Serf 


197 


out his hand, and said: “Alexander Ivanovitch 
I am glad to make your acquaintance as a 
friend. I am no longer your master.” 

Sasha took the hand, kissed it, and his tears 
fell fast. “Dear lord Baron!” he cried; 
“give also the freedom of my father and 
grandfather and I will add a payment of five 
thousand roubles a year, for ten years to 
come!” 

“And your ancestors for five hundred 
years back,” the Baron answered laughing. 
“I don’t know their names, but they can be 
all thrown into the deed, in one lump.” 

Before another day it was done. Sasha 
and the living members of his family were 
free, and his ancestors would also have been 
free if they had not been dead. With the 
parchment, signed and sealed, in his pocket, 
he took a carriage and post-horses and 
travelled day and night until he reached his 
native village. No one knew the stranger 
in his rich merchant’s dress; his father and 


198 Boys of Other Countries 

brothers were in the fields at work, and his 
mother had stepped out to see a neighbor; 
old Gregor was alone in the house. He was 
leaning back in a rude arm-chair with a 
sheep-skin over his knees; his eyes were 
closed, his mouth slightly open, and his face 
so haggard and sunken that Sasha thought 
him dead. 

He kneeled down beside the chair, and 
placed his hand on the old man’s heart, to see 
if it still beat. Presently came a broken 
voice: “The black god — the truth, my boy!” 
and Gregor feebly stretched a hand toward 
Sasha’s breast. The latter tore open his 
dress, and spread the cold, horny fingers over 
his own heart, the warmth of which seemed to 
kindle a fresh life in the old man. He at last 
opened his eyes. “Little Sasha,” he said, 
“little Sasha will keep his word.” 

“I have kept it, grandfather!” Sasha 
cried. 

“It’s a man, a brave-looking man,” said 




T-S. ~ - 


\jrrj^or tuj-s i 1 the house ” 

Drawing by I’’. J. Coburn 



The Young Serf 


199 


Gregor; “but he has the boy’s voice — and I 
know the boy’s hand is on my heart.” 

Sasha could no longer restrain himself. 
“And the boy is a free man, grandfather!” 
he exclaimed; “we are all free; here is the 
Baron’s deed, which says so, with the seal of 
the Empire upon it. Look, grandfather! — do 
you understand? — you are free!” 

Gregor was lifted to his feet, as if by an 
unseen hand. At that moment Sasha’s par- 
ents and brothers entered the house. The old 
man did not heed their cries of astonishment; 
clasping the parchment to his breast, he looked 
upward and exclaimed in a piercing voice: 
“Free at last, — all free! I ’ll carry the news 
to God!” Then, with a single gasp, he reeled, 
and, before any one could reach him, fell at 
full length on the floor, dead. 



Studies of Animal Nature 


201 







VI 

Studies of Animal Nature 


HAVE always had a great re- 
spect for animals, and have 
endeavored to treat them with 
the consideration which I think they de- 
serve. They have quick perceptions and 
know when to be confiding or reticent. 
I have learned no better way to gain their 
confidence than to ask myself, “If I were 
such or such an animal, how should I 
wish to be treated by man?” and to act upon 
that suggestion. The finest and deepest parts 
of their natures can be reached only by an 
intercourse which is purely kind and sympa- 
thetic. 

In the first place, animals have much more 

capacity to understand human speech than is 
203 




204 Boys of Other Countries 

generally supposed. The Hindoos invariably 
talk to their elephants, and it is amazing how 
much the latter comprehend. The Arabs 
govern their camels with a few cries, and my 
associates in the African desert were always 
amused whenever I addressed a remark to the 
big dromedary who was my property for two 
months ; yet, at the end of that time, the beast 
evidently knew the meaning of a number of 
simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing the 
hippopotamus in Bamum’s Museum looking 
very stolid and dejected, I spoke to him in 
English, but he did not even move his eyes. 
Then I went to the opposite corner of the 
cage, and said in Arabic, “I know you; come 
here to me!” He instantly turned his head 
towards me; I repeated the words, and there- 
upon he came to the comer where I was 
standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head 
against the bars of the cage, and looked in my 
face with a touching delight while I stroked 
his muzzle. I have two or three times found 


Studies of Animal Nature 205 

a lion who recognized the same language, and 
the expression of his eyes, for an instant, 
seemed positively human. 

I know of nothing more moving, indeed, 
semi-tragic, than the yearning helplessness in 
the face of a dog who understands what is 
said to him and cannot answer. We often 
hear it said that no animal can endure the 
steady gaze of the human eye; but this is a 
superstition. An intelligent dog or horse not 
only endures, but loves it. The eye of a 
beast is restless from natural habit, but hardly 
more so than that of savage man. Cats, 
birds, and many other animals seek, rather 
than avoid, a friendly human eye. It is possi- 
ble that tigers may have been turned away by 
an unflinching gaze, but I suspect the secret 
lay in the surprise of the beast at so unusual 
an experience, rather than in direct intimida- 
tion. Thieves are said to have the belief that 
a dog, for the same reason, will not attack a 
naked man, but I do not remember any 


2 06 Boys of Other Countries 

account of a burglary where they have tried 
the experiment. Cattle, however, are easily 
surprised. Once, in 1849, on the Salinas 
Plains in California, I escaped exactly the 
same onset of a vast herd of wild cattle as Mr. 
Harte describes in his Gabriel Conroy , by sit- 
ting down upon the ground. They were so 
unaccustomed to seeing a man except on 
horseback, that the position was an absolute 
bewilderment to them. The foremost halted 
within a hundred feet, formed a line as regular 
as a file of soldiers, and stared stupidly, until 
a team, luckily approaching at the right time, 
released me from my hazardous situation. 

Few persons are aware of the great effect 
which quiet speech exercises upon the most 
savage dog. A distinguished English poet 
told me that he was once walking in the coun- 
try with Canon Kingsley, when they passed a 
lodge where an immense and fierce mastiff, 
confined by a long chain, rushed out upon 
them. They were just beyond his reach, but 


Studies of Animal Nature 207 

the chain did not seem secure; the poet would 
have hurried past, but Kinsgley, laying a hand 
upon his arm, said, “Wait a moment, and see 
me subdue him!” Thereupon he walked up 
to the dog, who, erect upon his hind feet, with 
open jaws and glaring eyes, was the embodi- 
ment of animal fury. Kingsley lifted his 
hand, and quietly said, “You are wrong! You 
have made a mistake; you must go back to 
your kennel!” The dog sank down upon his 
fore feet, but still growled angrily ; the Canon 
repeated his words in a firm voice, advancing 
step by step, as the dog gave way. He con- 
tinued speaking grave reproof, as to a human 
being, until he had forced the mastiff back 
into his kennel, where the latter silently, and 
perhaps remorsefully, lay down. 

I cannot now tell whether I remembered 
this story, or acted simply from a sudden 
instinct, in a very similar case. I was in San 
Francisco, and went to call upon a gentleman 
of my acquaintance who lived upon Rincon 


208 Boys of Other Countries 

Point. The house stood a little distance back 
from the street, in a beautiful garden. I 
walked up between clumps of myrtle and 
fuchsia to the door and rang the bell. Instead 
of answer, there was a savage bay; a giant 
dog sprang around the comer of the house, 
and rushed at me with every sign of furious 
attack. I faced him, stood still, and said, 

“I am a friend of Mr. , and have come to 

visit him. You must not suppose that I 
mean any harm. I shall wait to see if the 
bell is answered ; you may stay and watch me. 
I am not afraid of you.” The animal paused, 
listened intently, but was evidently not 
entirely convinced; he still growled, and 
showed his teeth in rather an alarming man- 
ner. Then I said, ”1 shall ring once more; if 
there is no answer, I shall go away.” He fol- 
lowed me up the steps to the door, glared 
fiercely while I rang, and would undoubtedly 
have dashed at my throat had I made a sus- 
picious gesture. As no one came to the door 


Studies of Animal Nature 209 


I finally said, “I see there is nobody at home, 
so I shall go, as I told you I would.” His 
growling ceased; side by side we went down 
the walk and when I had closed the gate he 
turned away with a single dignified wave of 
the tail, which I understood as a combined 
apology and farewell. 

Brehm, the German naturalist, gives a very 
curious account of a chimpanzee at the Zoo- 
logical Garden in Hamburg. He satisfied 
himself that the animal understood as much 
human speech as an average child of two 
and a half years old. For instance, when he 
asked, “ Do you see the ducks? ” the chimpan- 
zee would look about the garden, passing over 
the geese and swans, until he found the birds 
indicated. At the command, “Go and sit 
down! ” uttered without any inflection of voice 
or glance towards a chair, he would promptly 
obey; on being told, “You are naughty,” he 
would hang his head, with an expression of 
distress; and he very soon learned to express 


14 


210 Boys of Other Countries 

his affection by kisses and caresses, like the 
children whom he saw. 

I presume it is a very common observation 
of persons who own intelligent dogs, that if 
they happen to describe to a visitor some fault 
for which the animal has been scolded or pun- 
ished, in the latter’s presence, he will exhibit 
an uneasy consciousness of what is said, even 
sometimes quietly slink away. But the ex- 
tent to which a horse, also, may be taught 
to understand speech, is not so generally 
known. The simple fact that he likes to be 
talked to makes him attentive to the sounds, 
and I am convinced that in a great many cases 
he has an impression of the meaning. I have 
at present a horse that served his country dur- 
ing the war, and came to me only after its 
close. His experience while on scouting ser- 
vice made him very suspicious of any gray 
object, as I soon discovered; he would shy at 
a fallen log in a thicket, a glimpse of mossy 
rock, or a laborer’s coat left in a fence-corner. 


Studies of Animal Nature 


21 1 


By stopping him whenever this happened, and 
telling him, in an assuring tone, that there was 
nothing to fear, he was very soon completely 
cured of the habit. But he still lifts up his 
head, and would, if he could, cry “Ha! ha!” 
when he hears the sound of the trumpet. 

The affection and fidelity of the horse have 
always been admitted. My first acquaintance 
with these qualities was singular enough to be 
related. When a boy of fourteen, I was walk- 
ing along a lonely country road with a com- 
panion of the same age, and came upon an old 
gray horse, standing in the middle of the 
track, over a man who was lying upon his 
back. We hastened up to give assistance, but 
presently saw that the man, instead of being 
injured, was simply dead drunk. He had 
tumbled off, on his way home from the tavern, 
and a full bottle of whiskey, jolted out of his 
pocket in falling, lay by his side. The fore- 
feet of the horse were firmly planted on each 
side of his neck, and the hind feet on each 


212 Boys of Other Countries 

side of his legs. This position seeming to us 
dangerous for the man, we took the animal 
by the bridle and attempted to draw him 
away; but he resisted with all his strength, 
snorting, laying back his ears, and giving 
every other sign of anger. It was apparent 
that he had carefully planted himself so as 
completely to protect his master against any 
passing vehicle. We assisted the faithful 
creature in the only possible way, — by pouring 
the whiskey into the dust, — and left him until 
help could be summoned. His act indicated 
not only affection involving a sense of duty, 
but also more than one process of reasoning. 

Darwin, as I understand him, is still doubt- 
ful whether there is a moral sense in animals. 
We can judge only from acts, of course, but 
our interpretation of those acts depends upon 
our sympathetic power of entering into the 
feelings of the animal. This is an element 
which Science will not accept; hence I doubt 
whether her deductions may not fall as far 


Studies of Animal Nature 213 

short of the truth as a vivid imagination may 
go beyond it. To me, it is very clear that 
there is at least a rudimentary moral sense in 
animals. I have had two marked evidences 
thereof, which are the more satisfactory inas- 
much as they include a change of conduct 
which can be explained only by assuming an 
ever-present memory of the fault committed. 
If this be not a lower form of conscience in its 
nature, its practical result is certainly the very 
same. Were we to judge a strange man by 
his actions, his speech being wholly unintel- 
ligible to us, we should give him the credit of 
a positive conscience in like circumstances. 
Why should we withhold it from an animal? 

Let the reader decide for himself! I have 
a horse that is now not less than forty-one 
years old, and it is possible that he is a year 
or two older; for thirty-eight years ago he was 
broken to use. He is at present on the retired 
list, only occasionally being called upon to 
lend a helping shoulder to his younger col- 


214 Boys of Other Countries 

league; but his intellect is as fresh and as full 
of expedients as ever. No horse ever knew 
better how to save himself, to spare effort and 
prolong his powers; no one was ever so cun- 
ning to slip his halter, open the feed-box, and 
supply the phosphates, the necessity of which 
to him he knew as well as any “scientist.” I 
have seen him, through a crack in a board 
shanty used while the stable was building, lift 
and lay aside with his teeth six boxes which 
were piled atop of one another, until he found 
the oats at the bottom. Then, when my head 
appeared at the window, he instantly gave up 
his leisurely, luxurious munching of the grain, 
opened his jaws to their fullest extent, thrust 
his muzzle deep into the box, and gravely 
walked back to his stall with at least a quart 
of oats in his mouth. This horse had a play- 
ful habit of snapping at my arm when he was 
harnessed for a drive. (I always talk to a 
horse before starting, as a matter of common 
politeness.) Of course I never flinched, and 


Studies of Animal Nature 


215 


his teeth often grazed my sleeve as he struck 
them together. One day, more than a dozen 
years ago, he was in rather reckless spirits and 
snapped a little too vigorously, catching my 
arm actually in his jaws. I scarcely felt the 
bite, but I was very much surprised. The 
horse, however, showed such unmistakable 
signs of regret and distress that I simply said, 
“Never do that again !” And he never did! 
From that moment, he gave up the habit of 
years; he laid back his ears, or feigned anger 
in other ways, but he never again made believe 
to bite. This, certainly, goes far beyond the 
temporary sorrow for an unintentional injury 
which may be referred to an animal’s affection. 
What else is conscience than knowledge of 
wrong made permanent by a memory which 
forbids the repetition of the wrong? 

The other instance was furnished by a 
creature which is popularly supposed to be as 
stupid as it is splendid, — a peacock! This, 
being a long-lived bird, and therefore dowered 


216 Boys of Other Countries 

with a richer experience than other domestic 
fowls, ought to be wiser in proportion; yet I 
have never heard of the peacock being cited 
as an example of either intelligence or moral 
sense. The bird is vain, it is true; but if van- 
ity indicates lack of intelligence, what will 
become of men and women? I have often 
watched “John” (the name we gave him and 
which he always recognized) spreading his tail 
before a few guinea-fowl, who were so provok- 
ingly indifferent to the rayed splendor that he 
invariably ended by driving them angrily away. 
On the other hand, can I ever forget the 
simple, untiring attachment of the gorgeous 
creature? The table at which I wrote stood 
near a bay-window, so that I had the true left- 
hand side-light, with a window at my back. 
As soon as I took my place there, after break- 
fast, the peacock flew upon the window-sill, 
and, whenever I failed to notice him, the sharp 
taps of his bill upon the glass reminded me of 
his presence. Then I turned, and, as in duty 


Studies of Animal Nature 217 

bound, said," Good morning, John!” after 
which he continued to sit there, silent and 
content, for two or three hours longer. The 
peacock is ordinarily a shy fowl, but John was 
bold enough to eat out of our hands. 

As often as spring came, however, it was 
impossible to prevent his depredations in the 
garden. He had a morbid taste for young 
cabbage and lettuce plants, especially when 
they were just rooted after being set out, and 
he would sometimes pick a whole bed to 
pieces while the gardener’s back was turned. 
For awhile I amused myself by testing his 
powers of dissimulation. I waited behind a 
clump of bushes until he was fairly on his way 
to the garden, making long, swift strides, with 
depressed neck and tail, and then I suddenly 
stepped forth. In the twinkling of an eye 
John stood upright, walked leisurely in the 
opposite direction, and seemed quite absorbed 
in the examination of some trifling object. 
His air and manner, to the tips of his feathers, 


218 Boys of Other Countries 

expressed the completest ignorance of a gar- 
den. He would spread his tail, call to the 
other fowls, peer under the hedge, and in 
similar ways attempt to beguile me out of 
sight of his secret aim. If I humored him for 
a few moments, he was always found a good 
many yards nearer the garden when I turned 
again. I have never seen a more hypocritical 
assumption of innocence and indifference in 
any human being. 

There came a season when even the pa- 
tience of old friendship was too severely tried. 
The peacock was presented to a friend, who 
lived two or three miles away and was the 
possessor of a couple of hens. I missed the 
morning tap at my window, the evening perch 
on the walnut-tree, the unearthly cries which 
used so to startle guests from the city, but 
consoled myself with thinking that our loss 
was his gain, for we had never replaced his 
lost spouse. He had been gone about a 
week, when one evening the familiar cry was 


Studies of Animal Nature 219 

heard from a grove on the farm, nearly half a 
mile from the house. Next day, John was 
seen in a weedy field, but slipped out of sight 
on finding he was detected. We let him 
alone, and in the course of a fortnight he had 
advanced as near as the chestnut-tree which I 
proudly exhibit to strangers as one of the 
antiquities of America, for it was growing 
when Charlemagne reigned in Aix-la-Chapelle 
and Haroun al-Raschid in Bagdad. He now 
allowed himself to be seen, but utterly refused 
to recognize any member of the family. When 
we called him by name, he instantly walked 
away; when we threw him food, he refused to 
touch it. Little by little, however, he forgave 
us the offence; in another fortnight he roosted 
on the walnut-tree, and at the end of the 
second month I heard his tap of complete 
reconciliation on the window. But the exile 
and mortification had chastened his nature. 
From that day the young plants were safe 
from his bill; he lived with us three or four 


220 Boys of Other Countries 

years longer, but was never once guilty of the 
same fault. No one denies that an animal is 
easily made to understand that certain things 
are forbidden. Discipline, alone, may accom- 
plish thus much. But when two creatures so 
far removed as a horse and a peacock assimi- 
late the knowledge to such an extent that the 
one gives up a habit and the other resists a 
tempting taste, we must admit either the germ 
of a moral sense or an intellect capable of 
positive deduction. 

The same horse once revealed to me the 
latter quality in a surprising way. On telling 
the story privately, I find that it is sometimes 
incredulously received; yet I am sure that no 
one who cherished the proper respect for ani- 
mals will refuse it credence. In the company 
of a friend, I was driving along a country road 
in a light, open buggy. I paid no attention 
to the horse, for he could turn, back, or exe- 
cute any other manoeuvre in harness, as well 
without as with a driver. Halting at a house 


Studies of Animal Nature 


221 


where my friend wished to call, I waited for 
him outside. Presently the horse looked back 
at me, twisting his body between the thills in 
a singular fashion. I perceived that he had 
some communication to make and said,“ What 
is the matter now, Ben?” Thereupon, by 
twisting a little more, he managed to hold up 
his right hind foot, and I saw that the shoe 
had been lost. ‘‘That ’s right,” said I; “you 
shall have a new shoe as soon as we get to 
the village.” He set down his foot, and for a 
moment seemed satisfied. Then the same 
turning of the head and twisting of the body 
were repeated. “What, Ben! is anything 
else the matter?” I asked. He now lifted up 
the left hind foot, which was still shod. I was 
quite at a loss to understand him, and re- 
mained silent. He looked back at me, out 
of the corner of his eye, and evidently saw 
that I was puzzled, whereupon he set down 
his foot and seemed to think. Almost imme- 
diately he lifted it up again, and shook it 


222 Boys of Other Countries 

vigorously. The loose shoe rattled! There 
was a positive process of reasoning in this act, 
and it is too simple and clear to be interpreted 
in any other way. 

I have had plenty of opportunity, yet very 
little time, to study bird nature; but ever 
since I saw a gentleman, in the park at 
Munich, entice the birds to come and feed 
from his hand by standing perfectly still and 
whistling a few soft, peculiar notes, I have 
been convinced of the possibility of a much 
more familiar intercourse. Simply by feeding 
such birds as remain through the winter, and 
keeping sportsmen off the place, all varieties 
of birds soon became half tame. In the sum- 
mer, when the windows were opened, they 
entered the house every day, and I frequently 
found that a bird which had once been caught 
and released readily allowed itself to be caught 
a second time. Once a little red-breasted crea- 
ture, with a black head, lay exhausted in my 
hand, overcome with the terror and mystery of 


Studies of Animal Nature 223 

a glass pane. At first I thought it dead ; but 
suddenly it hopped upon its feet, looked in 
my face with bright, piercing eyes, and chirped 
a few notes, which distinctly said/' Did you 
deliver me? Am I really free?” Then, still 
chirping, it slowly hopped up my arm to the 
shoulder, sang a snatch of some joyous carol, 
and flew away, brushing my cheek as it went. 
Another time, when I picked up some callow 
cat-birds out of the deep grass and replaced 
them in the nest, the parents actually dashed 
against my head in their distress and rage; 
but after I had retired a few minutes to let 
them be reassured, they allowed me to 
approach the nest without interrupting their 
talk with the young ones. Even a humming- 
bird, drenched and chilled by a September rain 
soon learned to be happy in a basket of warm 
cotton, and to sip sugared water out of a 
teaspoon. 

We had a parrot but once, and that only 
for a few weeks. The bird was a mystery to 


224 Boys of Other Countries 

me, and I found him almost too uncanny to 
be a pleasant acquaintance. Our parrot came 
directly from a vessel, but from what port I 
neglected to learn; he apparently understood 
the English language, but would not speak it. 
He preferred toast and coffee to any other 
diet, and was well-behaved, although tremen- 
dously exacting. When he became a little 
accustomed to us, he would sing the gamut, 
both upward and downward, in an absent- 
minded, dreamy way, as if recalling some 
memory of an opera-singer. He would sit 
beside me on a perch, seemingly contented, 
until he saw that I was absorbed in writing. 
Then he mounted to the table, planted him- 
self on the paper directly in the way of the 
pen, or managed, by nips of the ears and hair, 
to get upon the top of my head and make 
coherent thought impossible. Once, remem- 
bering Campbell’s ballad, I ventured — though 
with some anxiety, for I half expected to 
see him flap round the room with joyous 


Studies of Animal Nature 225 

screech, drop down and die— to speak to him 
in Spanish. He was surprised, interested, and 
at first seemed inclined to answer in the same 
tongue; but after reflecting half an hour upon 
the question he shook his head and kept the 
secret to himself. No phrase or word of any 
kind could be drawn from him; yet the same 
bird, seeing my daughter a week after we had 
given him away to a friend, suddenly called 
her by name! The parrot should have been 
the symbol of the Venetian Council of Ten. 

Three weeks after the great fire in Chicago, 
in 1871, I saw a parrot which had saved 
itself from the general fate of all household 
treasures there. It had belonged to my old 
friend, Mrs. Kirkland, and was doubly cher- 
ished by her daughter. When it was evident 
that the house was doomed, and the red wall of 
flame, urged by the hurricane, was sweeping 
towards it with terrific speed, Miss Kirkland 
saw that she could rescue nothing except what 
she instantly took in her hands. There were 


226 Boys of Other Countries 

two objects, equally dear, — the parrot and the 
old family Bible ; but she was unable to carry 
more than one of them. After a single mo- 
ment of choice, she seized the Bible and was 
hastening away, when the parrot cried out, in 
a loud and solemn voice, “Good Lord, deliver 
us!” No human being, I think, could have 
been deaf to such an appeal; the precious 
Bible was sacrificed and the parrot saved. 
The bird really possessed a superior intel- 
ligence. I heard him say “ Yes ” and “ No ” in 
answer to questions, the latter being varied 
so as to admit, alternately, of both replies; 
and the test of his knowledge was perfect. 
In the home where he had found a refuge there 
were many evening visitors, one of whom, a 
gentleman, was rather noted for his monopoly 
of the conversation. When the parrot first 
heard him, it listened in silence for some time; 
then, to the amazement and perhaps the con- 
fusion of all present, it said very emphatically, 
“You talk altogether too much!” The gentle- 


Studies of Animal Nature 


227 


man, at first somewhat embarrassed, presently 
resumed his interrupted discourse. There- 
upon the parrot laid his head on one side, gave 
an indescribably comical and contemptuous 
1 ‘ H ’m-m ! ’ ’ and added, * ‘ There he goes again ! ’ ’ 
If the little brain of a bird contains so much, 
manifested to us simply because its tongue 
may be taught to utter articulate sounds, why 
have we not a right to assume a much greater 
degree of intelligence in animals to whom 
articulation is impossible? If dogs or horses 
were capable of imitating our speech, as well 
as comprehending it, would they not have a 
great deal more to say to us? Articulation is 
a mechanical, not an intellectual peculiarity; 
but in the case of the parrot, and notably the 
mino, it is generally so employed as to prove 
very much more than routine and coincidence. 
I never saw a mino but once. I entered the 
vacant reading-room of a hotel early in the 
morning, took up a paper, and sat down, when 
suddenly a voice said, “Good morning!” I 


228 Boys of Other Countries 

saw nothing but what seemed to be a black 
bird in a cage, and could not have believed 
that the perfectly human voice came from it, 
had it not once more said, in the politest tone, 
11 Good morning!” I walked to the cage, and 
looked at it. “ Open the door and let me out, 
please!” said the bird. “Why, what are 
you?” I involuntarily exclaimed. “I’m a 
mino!” answered the amazing creature. It 
was the exact voice of a boy of twelve. 

When we turn to the lower forms of life, a 
feeling of repulsion, if not of positive disgust, 
checks our interest. Very few persons are 
capable of fairly observing snakes, toads, 
lizards, and other reptiles which suggest either 
slime or poison. The instinct must be natu- 
ral, for it is almost universal. I confess I 
should never select one of those creatures as a 
subject of study; but in a single case, where 
the creature presented itself unsolicited, and 
became familiar without encouragement, it 
soon lost its repulsive character. It was a 


Studies of Animal Nature 


229 


huge, venerable toad, which for years haunted 
the terrace in front of my house. Strict orders 
had been given, from the first, that he was not 
to be molested ; and he soon ceased to show 
alarm when any one appeared. During the 
warm weather of summer, it was our habit to 
sit upon the terrace and enjoy the sunset and 
early twilight. From hopping around us at 
such times, the toad gradually came to take 
his station near us, as if he craved a higher 
form of society and was satisfied to be simply 
tolerated. Finally he seemed to watch for our 
appearance, and whenever we came out with 
chairs and camp-stools for the evening he 
straightway hopped forth from some covert 
under the box-bushes and took his station 
beside some one of us. He was very fond of 
sitting on the edge of my wife’s dress, but his 
greatest familiarity was to perch on one of my 
boots, where his profound content at having 
his back occasionally stroked was shown in the 
slow, luxurious winking and rolling of his 


230 Boys of Other Countries 

bright eyes. His advances to us had been 
made so gently and timidly that it would have 
been cruel to repel them; but we ended by 
heartily liking him and welcoming his visits. 
For several summers he was our evening com- 
panion; even the house-dog, without com- 
mand, respected his right of place. One May 
he failed to appear, not from old age, for his 
term of life was far beyond ours, but probably 
from having fallen victim to some foe against 
which we could not guard him. 

I found field-tortoises with dates nearly 
a hundred years old carved on the under shell. 
Such an aged fellow never shows the same 
fear of man as those of a later generation. 
Instead of shutting himself up with an alarmed 
hiss, he thrusts out his head, peers boldly into 
your face, and paws impatiently in the air, as 
much as to say, “Put me down, sir, at once!” 
I once placed one of them on the terrace, and 
let him go. Nothing could surpass the prompt 
business-like way in which he set to work. In 


Studies of Animal Nature 231 


a few minutes he satisfied himself of the impos- 
sibility of squeezing through the box-edgings, 
and recognized that there was no way of 
escape except by the steps leading down to 
the lawn. This was an unknown difficulty; 
but he was ready to meet it. After a careful 
inspection, he mused for the space of a minute ; 
then, crawling carefully to the edge, he thrust 
himself over, quickly closing his shell at the 
same time, and fell with a thump on the step 
below. When he reached the lawn, I noticed 
that he struck an air-line for the spot where I 
found him. 

I give these detached observations of vari- 
ous features of animal nature for the sake of 
the interest they may possess for others. The 
man of science may reject evidence into which 
the element of sympathy enters so largely ; but 
he may still admit the possibility of more com- 
plex intelligence, greater emotional capacity, 
and the existence of a faculty allied to the 
moral sense of man. If one should surmise a 


232 Boys of Other Countries 


lower form of spiritual being, yet equally 
indestructible, who need take alarm? “Yea, 
they have all one breath ; so that a man hath 
no pre-eminence above a beast; for all is van- 
ity,” said the Preacher, more than two thou- 
sand years ago. But Goethe is more truly in 
accord with the spirit which came with Christ- 
ianity, when he put these words in the mouth 
of Faust: 

“ The ranks of living creatures Thou dost lead 
Before me, teaching me to know my brothers 
In air, and water, and the silent wood.” 


A Robber Region of Southern 
California 


233 



VII 


A Robber Region of Southern 
California 1 

WAS lying upon my back, with 
my handkerchief over my face, 
trying to imagine that I was 
asleep, when the welcome voice of the 
arriero shouted in my ear: "Ho! Placer o! 
up and saddle! — the morning is coming 
and we must reach Tepic to-day.” We 
fed our horses and sat on the ground for 
an hour before the first streak of dawn 
appeared. Three or four leagues of travel 
through a rich meadow-land brought us to the 
foot of the first ascent to the table-land. Our 
horses were fast failing, and we got off to walk 

1 An episode from Taylor’s Eldorado. A narrative of Travel 
on the Pacific Coast, 1849. 



235 



236 Boys of Other Countries 

up the stony trail. “I think we had better 
keep very close together,” said my friend; 
“ these woods are full of robbers, and they may 
attack us.” Our path was fenced in by thorny 
thickets and tall clumps of cactus, and at every 
winding we were careful to have our arms in 
readiness. We walked behind our horses all 
the afternoon, but as mine held out best, I 
gradually got ahead of the arriero. I halted 
several times for him to come up, but as he did 
not appear, I thought it advisable to push on 
to a good place of rest. My caminador had 
touched the bottom of his capability, and 
another day would have broken him down 
completely. Nevertheless, he had served me 
faithfully and performed miracles, consider- 
ing his wasted condition. I drove him for- 
ward up ravines, buried in foliage and fragrant 
with blossoms. Two leagues from Tepic, I 
reached the Hacienda of La Meca, and quar- 
tered myself for the night. One of the ranch- 
eros wished to purchase my horse, and after 


A Robber Region of California 237 

some chaffering, I agreed to deliver him in 
Tepic for four dollars! 

Tepic is built on the first plateau of the 
table-land. 

I had been directed to call at the posada of 
Doha Petra, but no one seemed to know the 
lady. Wandering about at random in the 
streets, I asked a boy to conduct me to some 
meson. I followed him into the courtyard 
of a large building, where I was received by 
the patron , who gave my done-over horse to 
the charge of the mozo, telling me I was just 
in time for breakfast. The purchaser of my 
horse did not make his appearance, notwith- 
standing I was ready to fulfil my part of 
the bargain. I went the round of the different 
mesdns, to procure another horse, and at last 
made choice of a little brown mustang that 
paced admirably, giving my caminador and 
twenty dollars for him. 

Leaving the mes6n on a bright Sunday noon, 
I left the city by the Guadalajara road. The 


238 Boys of Other Countries 

plaza was full of people, all in spotless holiday 
dress; a part of the exercises were performed 
in the portals of the cathedral, thus turning 
the whole square into a place of worship. 
At the tingle of the bell, ten thousand persons 
dropped on their knees, repeating their aves 
with a light, murmuring sound, that chimed 
pleasantly with the bubbling of the fountain. 
I stopped my horse and took off my sombrero 
till the prayer was over. 

My prieto — the Mexican term for a dark- 
brown horse — paced finely, and carried me to 
the village of San Lionel, ten leagues from 
Tepic, two hours before nightfall. I placed 
him securely in the corral, deposited my saddle 
in an empty room, the key of which, weighing 
about four pounds, was given into my posses- 
sionforthe time being, and entered the kitchen. 
I found the entire household in a state of 
pleased anticipation ; a little girl, with wings of 
red and white gauze, and hair very tightly 
twisted into ropy ringlets, sat on a chair near 


A Robber Region of California 239 

the door. In the middle of the little plaza, 
three rancheros, with scarfs of crimson and 
white silk suspended from their shoulders and 
immense tinsel crowns upon their heads, sat 
motionless on their horses, whose manes and 
tails were studded with rosettes of different 
colored paper and streamers of ribbons. These 
were, as I soon saw, part of the preparations 
for a sacred dramatic spectacle — a represen- 
tation, sanctioned by the religious teachers of 
the people. 

Against the wing-wall of the Hacienda del 
Mayo, which occupied one end of the plaza, 
was raised a platform, on which stood a table 
covered with scarlet cloth. A rude bower of 
cane-leaves, on one end of the platform, repre- 
sented the manger of Bethlehem; while a 
cord, stretched from its top across the plaza 
to a hole in the front of the church, bore a large 
tinsel star, suspended by a hole in its centre. 
There was quite a crowd in the plaza, and 
very soon a procession appeared, coming up 


240 Boys of Other Countries 

from the lower part of the village. The three 
kings took the lead; the Virgin mounted on an 
ass that gloried in a gilded saddle and rose- 
besprinkled mane and tail, followed them, 
led by the angel; and several women, with 
curious masks of paper, brought up the rear. 
Two characters of the harlequin sort — one 
a dog’s head on his shoulders and the other a 
bald-headed friar, with a huge hat hanging on 
his back — played all sorts of antics for the 
diversion of the crowd. After making the cir- 
cuit of the plaza, the Virgin was taken to the 
platform, and entered the manger. King 
Herod took his seat at the scarlet table, with 
an attendant in blue coat and red sash, whom 
I took to be his Prime Minister. The three 
kings remained on their horses in front of the 
church; but between them and the platform, 
under the string on which the star was to slide, 
walked two men in long white robes and blue 
hoods, with parchment folios in their hands. 
These were the Wise Men of the East, as one 


A Robber Region of California 241 

might readily know from their solemn air, and 
the mysterious glances which they cast to- 
wards all quarters of the heavens. 

In a little while, a company of women on the 
platform, concealed behind a curtain, sang 
an angelic chorus to the tune of “O pescator 
deH’onda.” At the proper moment, the Magi 
turned towards the platform, followed by 
the star, to which a string was conveniently 
attached, that it might be slid along the line. 
The three kings followed the star till it reached 
the manger, when they dismounted, and 
inquired for the sovereign whom it had led 
them to visit. They were invited upon the 
platform and introduced to Herod, as the only 
king; this did not seem to satisfy them, and, 
after some conversation, they retired. By this 
time the star had receded to the other end of 
the line, and commenced moving forward 
again, they following. The angel called them 
into the manger, where, upon their knees, they 
were shown a small wooden box, supposed 

16 


242 Boys of Other Countries 

to contain the sacred infant ; they then retired, 
and the star brought them back no more. 
After this departure, King Herod declared 
himself greatly confused by what he had 
witnessed, and was very much afraid this 
newly-found king would weaken his power. 
Upon consultation with his Prime Minister, 
the Massacre of the Innocents was decided 
upon, as the only means of security. 

The angel, on hearing this, gave warning 
to the Virgin, who quickly got down from the 
platform, mounted her bespangled donkey 
and hurried off. Herod’s Prime Minister 
directed all the children to be handed up for 
execution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, was 
caught and thrust forward ; the Minister took 
him by the heels in spite of his kicking, and 
held his head on the table. The little brother 
and sister of the boy, thinking he was really 
to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their 
voices, in an agony of terror, which threw the 
crowd into a roar of laughter. King Herod 


A Robber Region of California 243 

brought down his sword with a whack on the 
table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his 
brush into a pot of white paint which stood 
before him, made a flaring cross on the boy’s 
face. Several other boys were caught and 
served likewise; and, finally, the two harle- 
quins, whose kicks and struggles nearly shook 
down the platform. The procession then went 
off up the hill, followed by the whole popula- 
tion of the village. All the evening there were 
fandangos in the mesdn, bonfires and rockets 
on the plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass 
in the church, with the accompaniment of two 
guitars, tinkling to lively polkas. 

I left San Lionel early in the morning, rode 
thirty miles, to the village of Santa Ysabel, 
before breakfasting, and still had twenty-one 
miles to Ahuacatlan, my stopping-place for 
the night. 

At the mesdn of that place I found no 
one but the hostess and her two little 
sons; but the latter attended to my wants 


244 Boys of Other Countries 

with a childish courtesy, and gravity withal, 
which were charming. The little fellows 
gave me the key to a room, saw my prieto 
properly cared for, and then sat down to 
entertain me till the tortillas were made 
and the eggs fried. They talked with much 
naivete and a wisdom beyond their years. 
After supper they escorted me to my room, 
and took leave of me with “ pasa uste muy 
buena noche /” 

My prieto began to feel the effects of hard 
travel and I therefore stopped for the night at 
the inn of Mochitilte, an immense building, 
sitting alone like a fortress among the hills. 
The key of a large, cheerless room, daubed 
with attempts at fresco ornament, was given 
to me, and a supper served up in a cold and 
gloomy hall. The wind blew chill from the 
heights on either side, and I found prieto's 
blanket a welcome addition to my own, in 
the matter of bedding. 

I slept soundly in my frescoed chamber, fed 


A Robber Region of California 245 

prieto , and was off by sunrise. In the little 
town of Magdalena, where I breakfasted, 
I gave prieto a sheaf of oja and two hours’ 
rest before starting for the town of Tequila. 
No quiere uste tomar ausilio? — hay muchos 
ladrones en el camino (“Don’t you want a 
guard? — the road is full of robbers”), asked the 
vaquero of the house. “Every traveller,” he 
continued, “takes a guard as far as Tequila, 
for which he pays each man a dollar.” I told 
him I had no particular fear of the robbers, 
and would try it alone. “You are very coura- 
geous,” he remarked, “but you will certainly 
be attacked unless you take me as an ausilio .” 

The road now entered a narrow pass, fol- 
lowing the dry bed of a stream. Its many 
abrupt twists and windings afforded une- 
qualled chances for the guerillas, especially 
as the pass was nearly three leagues in length, 
without a single habitation on the road. 

After riding two hours in the hot afternoon 
sun, which shone down into the pass, a sudden 


246 Boys of Other Countries 


turn disclosed to me a startling change of 
scenery. At my very feet lay the city of 
Tequila, so near that it seemed a stone might 
be thrown upon the square towers of its 
cathedral. 

I rode down into the city where at the 
Meson de San Jose — the only inn in the place — 
I found a large company of soldiers quartered 
for the night. The inner patio or courtyard, 
with its stables, well, and massive trough of 
hewn stone, was appropriated to their horses, 
and groups of swarthy privates, in dusty blue 
uniforms, filled the corridors. I obtained a 
dark room for myself, and a corner of one of 
the stalls for prieto , where I was obliged to 
watch until he had finished his corn, and keep 
off his military aggressors. The women were 
all absent, and I procured a few tortillas and 
a cup of pepper-sauce, with some difficulty. 
The place looked bleak and cheerless after 
dark, and for this reason, rather than for its 
cut-throat reputation, I made but a single stroll 


A Robber Region of California 247 

to the plaza, where a number of rancheros sat 
beside their piles of fruit and grain, in the light 
of smoky torches, hoisted on poles. 

When I arose, the sun, just above the hills, 
was shining down the long street that led to 
Guadalajara. I had a journey of eighteen 
leagues to make, and it was time to be on the 
road; so, without feeding my horse, I saddled 
and rode away. A little more than four 
leagues across the plain, brought me to the 
town of Amatitlan ; where, at a miserable mud 
building, dignified by the name of a mesdn, I 
ordered breakfast, and a mano de oja for my 
horse. There was none in the house, but one 
of the neighbors began shelling a quantity of 
the ripe ears. When I came to pay, I gave her 
a Mexican dollar, which she soon brought 
back, saying that it had been pronounced 
counterfeit at a tienda , or shop, across the way. 
I then gave her another, which she returned, 
with the same story, after which I gave her a 
third, saying she must change it, for I would 


24B Boys of Other Countries 

give her no more. The affairs of a few hours 
later caused me to remember and understand 
the meaning of this little circumstance. At 
the tienda , a number of fellows in greasy sar- 
apes were grouped, drinking mescal, which 
they offered me. I refused to join them: 11 Es 
la ultima vez” (It is the last time), said one of 
them, though what he meant, I did not then 
know. 

It was about ten in the forenoon when I left 
Amatitlan. The road entered on a lonely 
range of hills. The soil was covered with 
stunted shrubs and a growth of long yellow 
grass. I could see the way for half a league 
before and behind; there was no one in sight. 
I rode leisurely along, looking down into a 
deep ravine on my right and thinking to my- 
self, “That is an excellent place for robbers to 
lie in wait ; I think I had better load my pistol” 
— which I had fired off just before reaching 
Tequila. Scarcely had this thought passed 
through my mind, when a little bush beside 


A Robber Region of California 249 

the road seemed to rise up; I turned suddenly, 
and, in a breath, the two barrels of a musket 
were before me, so near and surely aimed, 
that I could almost see the bullets at the bot- 
tom. The weapon was held by a ferocious 
looking native, dressed in a pink calico shirt 
and white pantaloons; on the other side of me 
stood a second, covering me with another 
double-barrelled musket, and a little in the rear 
appeared a third. I had walked like an unsus- 
pecting mouse, into the very teeth of the trap 
laid for me. 

“Down with your pistols !” cried the first, 
in a hurried whisper. So silently and sud- 
denly had all this taken place, that I sat still 
a moment, hardly realizing my situation. 
“Down with your pistols and dismount!’* 
was repeated, and this time the barrels came 
a little nearer my breast. Thus solicited, I 
threw down my single pistol — the more readily 
because it was harmless — and got off my 
horse. Having secured the pistol, the robbers 


250 Boys of Other Countries 

went to the rear, never for a moment losing 
their aim. They then ordered me to lead my 
horse off the road, by a direction which they 
pointed out. We went down the side of the 
ravine for about a quarter of a mile to a patch 
of bushes and tall grass, out of view from the 
road, where they halted, one of them return- 
ing, apparently to keep watch. The others, 
deliberately levelling their pieces at me, com- 
manded me to lie down on my face — “la boca 
a tier r a /” I cannot say that I felt alarmed: 
it had always been a part of my belief that the 
shadow of Death falls before him — that the 
man doomed to die by violence feels the chill 
before the blow has been struck. As I never 
felt more positively alive than at that moment, 
I judged my time had not yet come. I pulled 
off my coat and vest, at their command, and 
threw them on the grass, saying: “Take what 
you want, but don’t detain me long.” The 
fellow in a pink calico shirt, who appeared to 
have some authority over the other two, 


A Robber Region of California 251 

picked up my coat, and, one after the other, 
turned all the pockets inside out. I felt a 
secret satisfaction at his blank look when he 
opened my purse and poured the few dollars 
it contained into a pouch he carried in his belt. 
“ How is it,” said he, “that you have no more 
money?” “I don’t own much,” I answered, 
“but there is quite enough for you.” I had, 
in fact, barely sufficient in coin for a ride to 
Mexico, the most of my funds having been 
invested in a draft on that city. I believe I 
did not lose more than twenty-five dollars by 
this attack. “At least,” I said to the robbers, 
“you ’ll not take the papers” — among which 
was my draft. “No,” he replied — “ no me 
valen nada . ’ ’ (They are worth nothing to me.) 

Having searched my coat, he took a hunt- 
ing-knife which I carried, examined the blade 
and point, placed his piece against a bush 
behind him and came up to me, saying, as he 
held the knife above my head: “Now put your 
hands behind you, and don’t move, or I shall 


252 Boys of Other Countries 

strike.” The other then laid down his musket 
and advanced to bind me. They were evi- 
dently adepts in the art: all their movements 
were so carefully timed, that any resistance 
would have been against dangerous odds. I 
did not consider my loss sufficient to justify 
any desperate risk, and did as they command- 
ed. With the end of my horse’s lariat, they 
bound my wrists firmly together and having 
me thus secure, sat down to finish their inspec- 
tion more leisurely. My feelings during this 
proceeding were oddly heterogeneous — at one 
moment burning with rage and shame at 
having neglected the proper means of defence, 
and the next, ready to burst into a laugh at the 
decided novelty of my situation. My blanket 
having been spread on the grass, everything 
was emptied into it. The robbers had an eye 
for the curious and incomprehensible, as well 
as the useful. They spared all my letters, 
books, and papers, but took my thermometer, 
compass, and card-case, together with a num- 


A Robber Region of California 253 

ber of drawing-pencils, some soap (a thing the 
Mexicans never use), and what few little arti- 
cles of the toilette I carried with me. A bag 
hanging at my saddle-bow, containing ammu- 
nition, went at once, as well as a number of 
oranges and cigars in my pockets, the robbers 
leaving me one of the latter, as a sort of conso- 
lation for my loss. 

Between Mazatlan and Tepic, I had carried 
a doubloon in the hollow of each foot, covered 
by the stocking. It was well they had been 
spent for prieto , for they would else have cer- 
tainly been discovered. The villains unbuck- 
led my spurs, jerked off my boots and exam- 
ined the bottoms of my pantaloons, ungirthed 
the saddle and shook out the blankets, 
scratched the heavy guard of the bit to see 
whether it was silver, and then, apparently 
satisfied that they had made the most of me, 
tied everything together in a comer of my best 
blanket. “Now,” said the leader, when this 
was done, “ shall we take your horse?’" This 


254 Boys of Other Countries 

question was of course a mockery; but I 
thought I would try an experiment, and so 
answered in a very decided tone: “No; you 
shall not. I must have him; I am going to 
Guadalajara, and I cannot get there without 
him. Besides, he would not answer at all for 
your business.” He made no reply, but took 
up his piece, which I noticed was a splendid 
article and in perfect order, walked a short 
distance towards the road, and made a signal 
to the third robber. Suddenly he came back, 
saying: “Perhaps you may get hungry before 
night — here is something to eat;” and with 
that he placed one of my oranges and half a 
dozen tortillas on the grass beside me. “ Mil 
gracias ,” said I, “but how am I to eat without 
hands?” The other then coming up, he said, 
as they all three turned to leave me: “Now 
we are going; we have more to carry than we 
had before we met you; adios!” This was 
insulting — but there are instances under which 
an insult must be swallowed. 


A Robber Region of California 255 

I waited till no more of them could be seen, 
and then turned to my horse, who stood 
quietly at the other end of the lariat : 41 Now, 

prieto ,” I asked, “how are we to get out of this 
scrape ?” He said nothing, but I fancied I 
could detect an inclination to laugh in the 
twitching of his nether lip. However, I went 
to work at extricating myself — a difficult 
matter, as the rope was tied in several knots. 
After tugging a long time, I made a twist which 
the India-rubber man might have envied, and 
to the great danger of my spine, succeeded in 
forcing my body through my arms. Then, 
loosening the knots with my teeth, in half an 
hour I was free again. As I rode off, I saw 
the three robbers at some distance, on the 
other side of the ravine. 

It is astonishing how light one feels after 
being robbed. A sensation of complete inde- 
pendence came over me; my horse, even, 
seemed to move more briskly, after being 
relieved of my blankets. I tried to comfort 


256 Boys of Other Countries 

myself with the thought that this was a genu- 
ine adventure, worth one experience — that, 
perhaps, it was better to lose a few dollars 
than have even a robber’s blood on my head ; 
but it would not do. The sense of the outrage 
and indignity was strongest, and my single 
desire was the unchristian one of revenge. In 
spite of the threats of the robbers, I looked 
in their faces sufficiently to know them again, 
in whatever part of the world I might meet 
them. I recognized the leader — a thick-set, 
athletic man, with a short, black beard — as 
one of the persons I had seen lounging about 
the tienda } in Amatitlan, which explained the 
artifice that led me to display more money 
than was prudent. It was evidently a pre- 
conceived plan to plunder me at all hazards, 
since, coming from the Pacific, I might be sup- 
posed to carry a booty worth fighting for. 

I rode on rapidly, over broad, barren hills, 
covered with patches of chapparal, and gashed 
with deep arroyos. These are the usual hid- 


A Robber Region of California 257 

ing-places of the robbers, and I kept a sharp 
lookout, inspecting every' rock and clump of 
cactus with a peculiar interest. About three 
miles from the place of my encounter, I passed 
a spot where there had been a desperate 
assault eighteen months previous. The rob- 
bers came upon a camp of soldiers and traders 
in the night, and a fight ensued, in which 
eleven of the latter were killed. They lie 
buried by the roadside, with a few black 
crosses to mark the spot, while directly above 
them stands a rough gibbet, on which three of 
the robbers, who were afterwards taken, swing 
in chains. I confess to a decided feeling of 
satisfaction, when I saw that three, at least, 
had obtained their deserts. Their long black 
hair hung over their faces, their clothes were 
dropping in tatters, and their skeleton-bones 
protruded through the dry and shrunken flesh. 
The thin, pure air of the table-land had pre- 
vented decomposition, and the vultures and 
buzzards had been kept off by the nearness of 


17 


258 Boys of Other Countries 

the bodies to the road. It is said, however, 
that neither wolves nor vultures will touch a 
dead Mexican, his flesh being always too 
highly seasoned by the red-pepper he has 
eaten. A large sign was fastened above this 
ghastly spectacle, with the words, in large 
letters: asi castiga la ley ladron y el 
asesino. (‘ 1 Thus the law punishes the robber 
and the assassin.”) 

I hurried my prieto , now nearly exhausted, 
over the dusty plain. I had ascended beyond 
the tropical heats, and, as night drew on, the 
temperature was fresh almost to chilliness. 
The robbers had taken my cravat and vest, 
and the cold wind of the mountains, blowing 
upon my bare neck gave me a violent nervous 
pain and toothache, which was worse than the 
loss of my money. Prieto panted and halted 
with fatigue, for he had already traveled 
fifty miles ; but I was obliged to reach 
Guadalajara, and by plying a stick in lieu 
of the abstracted spur, kept him to his pace. 


A Robber Region of California 259 

An hour and a half brought me to the suburbs 
of Guadalajara. 

I was riding at random among the dark 
adobe houses, when an old padre, in black 
cassock and immense shovel-hat, accosted me. 
“Estrangero?” he inquired; “Si, padre ,” said 
I. “But,” he continued, “do you know that 
it is very dangerous to be here alone?” — then, 
dropping his voice to a whisper, he added: 
“Guadalajara is full of robbers; you must be 
careful how you wander about after night; do 
you know where to go?” I answered in the 
negative. 1 ‘ Then, ’ ’ said he, “ go to the Meson 
de la Merced; they are honest people there, 
and you will be perfectly safe; come with me 
and I ’ll show you the way.” I followed him 
for some distance, till we were near the place, 
when he put me in the care of “Ave Maria 
Santissima,” and left. I found the house 
without difficulty, and rode into the court- 
yard. The people, who seemed truly honest, 
sympathized sincerely for my mishap, and 


260 Boys of Other Countries 

thought it a great marvel that my life had 
been spared. For myself, when I lay down 
on the tiled floor I involuntarily said: “Aye, 
now I am in Guadalajara; the more fool I; 
when I was at home I was in a better place; 
but travelers must be content/ 1 


THE END 


The Works of Bayard Taylor 


Travels 


Cr. 8vo. Each $1.50 


Views Afoot 
By-Ways of Europe 
Central Africa 
Egypt and Iceland 
Eldorado 


Greece and Russia 
Home and Abroad. First Series. 
Home and Abroad. Second Series , 
India, China, and Japan 
Land of the Saracen 
Northern Travel 


Novels 

Cr. 8vo. Each $1.50 

The Story of Kennett John Godfrey’s Fortunes 

Beauty and the Beast Joseph and his Friend 

Hannah Thurston 

16 vols. Cr. 8vo. $24.00 
16 vols. in 8. Cr. 8vo. $16.00 

Boys of Other Countries 

Third Edition with additional chapters on Studies of 
Animal Nature and the Robber Region of Southern 
California. 

With 8 Full-page Illustrations in Color and 8 other Illus- 
trations after Original Designs by Frederick Simpson 
Coburn. 

Printed from new plates. Beautifully bound. Full-size 8vo, 
Handsome Cover Design. 

“ There is no romance to us quite equal to one of 
Bayard Taylor’s books of travel .” — Hartford Republican . 

“ Mr. Bayard Taylor’s stories are delightful and re- 
freshing reading , and a great rest after the crowded 
artistic effects and the conventional interest of even the 
better kind of English novels .” — London Spectator . 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 


Popular Tales for Young People 

By RONALD QUIZ 


Giant=Land 

or, The Wonderful Adventures of Tim Pippin 

8vo, with 24 Illustrations in Full Color after designs 
by “ Puck.” Handsomely printed and bound, 

full gilt. $2.50. 

Monster=Land 

or, The Further Adventures of King Pippin 

8vo, with 20 Illustrations in Full Color after designs 
by “ Puck.” Handsomely printed and bound, 

full gilt. $2.50. 

These are reprints of a delightfully fanciful child’s stories, famous 
half a century ago. The illustrations have been redrawn and en- 
larged from the originals, and add greatly to the attractiveness of 
the books. 

Legends and Stories of Italy 

For Children 
By AMY STEEDMAN 

With 12 Full-page Illustrations in Color after designs 
by Katharine Cameron. 8vo. Handsomely printed 
and bound. $2.50 net. 

A volume for young folks that is full of ennobling examples of 
•"irtue and saintly living, embodied in stories that are gracefully and 
effectively told. The stories are steeped in piety, and the beautiful 
legends and tales that go to make up the volume are the fruit of an 
unwavering and abiding faith. The simple earnestness of the telling 
has left unobscured the message that these stories bear to the respons- 
ive girl and boy. 

The volume contains twelve illustrations in color by Katharine 
Cameron, illustrations that admirably reproduce the spirit of reverence 
and of faith that pervades the whole work. 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK 


LONDON 


Popular Tales lor Young People 


By LOUEY CHISHOLM 

The Golden Staircase 

Poems and Verses for Children 

With 16 Fulhpage Illustrations in Color 

By M. Dibdin -Spooner 

Large Svo. Beautifully printed and bound. $ 2.50 net. Popular 
Edition. With eight Fulhpage illustrations in color . Full gilt 
stamping, gilt top. $1.50 net. School Edition. With 
eight fulhpage illustrations in color. Cloth. $1. 00 net. 

The Enchanted Land 

Tales Told Again 

With 30 Full’' page Illustrations in Color. Cover Design, and End V 

papers 

By Katharine Cameron 

8 vo. Very Handsomely bound. Full gilt edges. $3.00 

In Fairyland 

Tales Told Again 

With 30 Fulhpage Illustrations in Color, Cover Design, and End '* 

papers 

By Katharine Cameron 

8vo. Beautifully printed and bound. Full gilt stamping. $3.00 

Mrs. Chisholm has retold in a delightful way many of the old fairy tales. 
Perhaps the best explanation of her methods may be given in the words of one 
little girl : “ You leave all the not interesting bits, you know, and you make me 
understand what the story is all about, and I just see pictures all the time, and 
when you come to the end I just feel that I want you to go on forever.” 

Mr. Wind and Madame Rain 

Translated from the French of 

Paul de Musset 

By Emily Makepeace 

With twenty' 1 five very quaint Fulhpage Illustrations by 
Charles Bennett 
8 vo. Full gilt. $2.00 

This is a reprint of a delightfully fanciful child’s story, famous half a 
century ago. The illustrations have been redrawn and enlarged from the ongi-* 
nals, and add greatly to the attractiveness of the book. 

new york G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS London 


Handsome Editions o! Classics for Children 


Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 

Through the Looking Glass and What Alice 
Found There 

By Lewis Carroll 

Two volumes , Cr , 8vo, Illustrated by John Tenniel, Beautifully 
printed and bound. Handsome Wrappers , Each 75 cents , 

2 Vols. in one, $1.00 

To praise the playful fancy, the ingenuity, the gaiety, the sly humor, and in- 
imitable nonsense of Alice as she wanders through Wonderland or on Through 
the Looking Glass is surely superfluous. These admirable books should form a 
part of every child’s library. 

A Little Lame Prince 

And His Traveling Cloak. A Parable for Young and Old 

By Dinah Mulock 

Cr, 8vo . 150 pages. Fully illustrated. Beautifully printed and 

bound, Handsome Wrapper . 75 cents . 

This little story of “ the most beautiful prince that ever was born,” and of his 
good friends, the fairy god-mother, the magpie, and many other equally engaging 
or interesting creatures, has now become a classic among tales for children. 

Forty Famous Fairy Tales 

Jack and the Beanstalk — The Three Dwarfs — The 
Six Swans — The Sleeping Beauty — Beauty and 
the Beast — Blue Beard — Tom Thumb — 
Snowdrop — Jack the Giant-Killer — Little 
Red Riding-Hood, and many others. 

Cr. 8vo, 400 pages. With 14 FuWpage illustrations, Handsomely 
printed and bound. Decorative Wrapper, $1.00 

This volume is made up of fairy tales that will delight the young folks of the 
present generation as they have delighted the young folks of generations gone by. 
They are tales that though they trace their origin to many different lands, have 
had a practically universal acceptance. Here are gathered together such old fav- 
orites as ‘ Cinderella,” “ Puss in Boots,” “ Blue Beard,” 11 Hansel and Gretsel,” 
“ Jack and the Beanstalk,” and a host of others, told by such charming narrators 
of the wonders of fairy land as Grimm, Andersen, Jacobs, and Perrault. 

NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS London 


OCT 4 1912 













